Lemonade Poems Novels & Stories

“This is incredible, Laura.” “You're just saying that,” she said, feeling her cheeks tingle once again. “I'm dead serious,” he said. “This is unbelievable. How did you make this?” “I won't tell you all of the secrets,” she said, with a sly smile. “But I can tell you that part of it is about using lemons straight off of the tree. Once you have lemonade with fresh lemons, you'll never be able to go back.” “You're right about that,” he said, shaking his head in awe. “I think you've just ruined me. I'll never be able to drink lemonade from the store again.”

The flattened peel sprawled across the counter like a half-dead jellyfish. I could practically imagine Julian standing there in the middle of the night staring at his own terrible life choices. Evelyn: Wait, you stole TWO lemons?? Julian: Souvenirs matter Another message appeared almost immediately. Julian: But seriously, I don’t recommend eating yours I smiled despite myself while typing back. Evelyn: I don’t think normal people eat whole lemons directly anyway… Julian: I made lemonade! Evelyn: Did you at least put honey in it

Neah I was having some sort of flashback. The memory wasn’t quite clear but I could hear Luna Cassandra’s voice. ‘It’s so hot today, isn’t it, Neah?” There was a cheery tone to her voice as she helped me make the lemonade. She had let me stand on a chair at the kitchen counter, helping her. A second jug sat on the counter with some leaves sitting in the bottom. “What’s that, Cassie?” “I thought we could make some extra. Everyone loves lemonade on a day like this.”

She went into the kitchen and quickly started making lemonade for all of Vaelor's people that came for the moving process, about five of them, three women and two men, all well built and strong. They also appreciated the lemonade and enjoyed it in various parts of the house. Mostly the parts that they were working on Martha came to find Vaelor, I and the kids outside. The lemonade was the perfect thing to take care of our parched throats, the children made a game of it to see who would make less faces while drinking the sour refreshment. I watched them and smiled. Vaelor approached them with a broad smile and asked; “can I join your game?" Rosalie nodded rapidly, Lily said a little yes but N

"Nah, it's cool. Thanks, though." Lacy set her phone down on the patio table and finished rubbing sunscreen on her arms as Hannah walked over and took another sip from her lemonade. She handed the bottle to Lacy who nearly spat it back out. "What the fuck, Hannah? Is there vodka in this?" "Yeah, it's ~HARD~ lemonade," she said with a grin. Lacy took another sip. It wasn't bad. "I didn't think we were getting turnt today." "We're not -- just a little tipsy is all. Gotta cut loose, enjoy our spring break."

Sharon pointed out. “No, that’s where you are wrong. Making a lemonade not only needs effort but also concentration. In order to make a perfect lemonade, you need the proper lemons— not too ripe. And then, measuring the amount of lemon extract you pour is extremely important. Of course, the sugar is to be—” “So, you squeeze in lemon and add sugar?” Sharon said, hoping that Seraphine would be sparing her from that nonsensical explanation. Sharon doubted Seraphine knew how to even extract the lemon.

—I walk to the spot where the chrysanthemums bloom, bright and eye-catching—“these are the mums Mommy and Daddy planted for your Grandpa Terrence and Grandma Lauryn. And eventually there will be a lemon tree, but it’s too small to grow any fruit still.” She stares up at me, her gray eyes never once leaving my face to look at the garden. But she smiles and kicks her legs, and that’s good enough for me. “I know it’s so exciting! We’ll be able to make fresh squeezed lemonade, and lemon meringue pie, and lemon cookies!”

The pretty lady on-stage said to her mic, “Ladies and Gentlemen, my name is Penny and I’m the host for the Poetry League. I’ll now come up with a theme where everyone should base their poetry composition on. Whoever writes the best will earn the title The Gifted Hibiscus Scholar! You should know this title is the highest honor for scholars and literati!” Penny scanned the crowd. “It’s deep into autumn, so the theme for this year’s Poetry League is Autumn. Whoever writes the best poem wins!”

"A Wood Stream-- The threading sunbeams quiver, The bending bushes shiver, O'er the little shadowy river-- There's only one more rhyme that occurs to me and that's 'liver.' Why did you leave it out?" Emily writhed. "Wind Song-- I have shaken the dew in the meadows From the clover's creamy gown-- Pretty, but weak. June--June, for heaven's sake, girl, don't write poetry on June. It's the sickliest subject in the world. It's been written to death."

That was not a good start. I lined up a piece of broken lemon next to it in an attempt to soothe it, but it actually made it even worse. The lemon was not sweet, much less neutral, a bloody citric acid that made her shiver with agony compulsively begging for water. God, how can people drink that?