[Roger Slater]

In May all the songs that I croon
Are dirges to plums that by June
... Will shrivel and dry
... As the sun in the sky
Reduces them each to a prune.

[Allen Tice]

In May all the songs of the season
Are dirges to grapes that by reason
... Will shrivel and dry
... As the sun in the sky
Reduces them each to a raisin.

Let's new-verbulate: old poem threads are "raisined".

[RCL]

Roger, the soul of wit!

Allen, nice take on the prune's first cousin. And I like the paradox of your final line.

[RCL]

Prune Proverbs

*
Plum wine’s gain is a prune’s loss.

Black plums at night, a gourmand’s delight.

When the prune’s away the raisins play.

It takes a village for raisin a prune.

A prune a day keeps gut aches at bay.

A plumb saved is gut-pruning lost.

A plumb and its smoothness are soon parted.

A prune resists retention.

A puckered prune's your tummy’s boon.

Pruned pounds are soon rebounds.

**
You can prune my mouth but not my mind.

Pruning is fine tuning.

Prune modifiers and nouns will take care of themselves.

A pruning is excessive vetting.

Pruning ourselves is ruining ourselves.

Pruning ourselves is finding ourselves.

Pruning ourselves makes us stronger.

Pruning ourselves . . . .


Caveat: For every proverb there’s an opposite and equally inane proverb.

[Brian Allgar]

Theresa May had hoped to pull a plum
From her bum,
But by June,
It was only a shrivelled prune.

[RCL]

Brian, a well-pulled plum! I’m inspired.

Little Don Liar

Little Don Liar
Sat in the corner,
Chomping his POTUS pie;
Small thumb up his bum,
He pulled out a plum,
Crying, “What a psychotic twat am I!”