Spotted dark skin of green
In my hand you stand so keen;
But don’t wish you can stay still
For here’s my knife ready to peel.
Unripe they may say is what you are,
Yet hundred ways for you to prepare;
Crunchy yet so sour for taste
For others to salivate.
Oh! Let me take this chance to peep
Even in distance I cannot keep;
A pungent, tempting flavor filled the place
Yet mild, and sweet distinctive feel to replace.
Today’s prompt from NaPoWriMo was to write a poem to specifically describe something in terms of at least three of the five senses. So guess what do I have on the plate?