Lemonade

Etched and painted on the surface clear,
Bright lemons, freshly sliced, for this warm day,
Or are they mulled within, where one may peer,
No matter, for the senses are in play.

Each year as summer overtakes our days,
And thirsty young-uns gather for relief,
My old glass urns, from cupboards now displayed
on countertop; my kitchen’s leit motif.

Each citrus peel and vibrant, lobed leaf,
Remind me of a lighter, gayer clime,
Awakening again, heartfelt beliefs,
That all too oft are pushed aside by time.

These days of tea and summer lemonade,
Elicit memories; life’s rich brocade.

Photo a Friday: Glass

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