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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.

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