A limerick ode to Purple Rain

A tree stands, hungover,
wanting, it seems, to be here
moreover.

Syzygium cumini
Branches untidy
Fruits aplenty.

Drops purple squish, in season
beyond belief and reason.
Ignored by birds, bees and humans
and watching it go waste, such treason.

I try to pick them off the floor

but alway the grit is more.

Damaged and bruised are they by the fall.

I need a net, to catch them all!

Thanks to my faithful reader Sagarika

From the land of Jambudvipa

through these lines I proclaim-a

the plentiful and wild, purple rain-a.