Sonnet To A Watermelon

O, luscious long green from the trailing vine!

     No mid-day meal without thee is complete;

     Into the summer’s fierce, oppressive heat

Thou com’th to cool our parched lips like wine

From dungeons deep where Suns could never shine.

     Fair maiden’s cheek, I ween, ne’er blushed more fair,

     Than thou when quartered with exceeding care,

And placed before us on the festive board

Where thou hast always played the game and scored.

No waters of the morning dew more clear

Or sparkling than thy juices now and here.

     Would we couldst bathe in waters such as thine,

     O, luscious melon from the trailing vine;

To drown therein would be a thing of cheer!

Aug. 2, ‘09