The gold summer sun slips below the pamplemousse orchard,
Sparking glitter in the trees and the raw-weed taste of dust,
A glass of lemonade to wet my whistle and overcome this scorcher,
Yet, nothing halts the hot sunset thrust,
My comrade, Bully, shifts to plead for water,
I tarry in my reply,
He licks his lips with his tongue,
Sloshes his red ribbon around and I still give no quarter,
His eyes plead as if to say "It's bone dry,"
I relent and pour lemonade in a stream flung,
Bouncing on the heated rocks and into his mouth.
Day 529: 5 Minute Freewrite: Tuesday - Prompt: gold by 
Copyright © 2019 Michael Shawn Sommermeyer
