When the good lord
Came up with fruit
He made it a bit of a test
The type that benefit
And the poisonous rest

Made us filter out the lethal
And the ones that made us sick
But once we did
We were grateful
And knew with which to stick

The colours
And the textures
The sweetness
Almost holy
The creator
Chuckled
To himself
Wait till they invent
Smoothies.