under the mango tree the poet

under the mango tree the poet sat

determined to be inspired to write

to say something;

outside the shade

five boys there are

mirthful at their play they are;

not too high up a bough

the mango fruit hangs confidently

it's dark green and though robust and plump

it's still not half a fist;

the boys found rocks

upwards they hurled them towards the mango fruit

but they're poor marksmen

the rocks just kissed thin leaves and brown branches;

the mango fruit just laughed inwardly

the boys got tired and cursed their fate

under their breaths;

under the mango tree the poet sat

and wrote ---

O mango fruit, time will come when you will be

fist-sized and golden and ready

and will fall towards the earth 

as is ordained

the boys might not be here nor I

to witness this unfolding

but, Time will come.

by the Rules, we all must abide,

the Universe is perfect by Itself.