Where, if now, brown cow
To see of me and be of me
To trade me at the days end
When after little work lay thousands
Walk away from these
Vile burning crowds and fields
Take from me from these idle rings
Push me to the center aisle
Prepare the ears for sour notes
Plant me here with my button
Press my squirting flower
Tailor Bell
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sour-lime/
