The Jack Fruit

Trees have tongues, the great bard of Avon says
Their offspring too well emulate their ways
To men many a lesson they can teach
Let us study a case within our reach.

The Jack fruit looks repellent and rough.
To arrive at its core is really tough
Just as all that glitters may not be gold
All that is grisly, one need not withhold.

This fruit is restful, content and humble
Positioned anywhere it doesn’t grumble
When at the root it has its lowly seat
Like a tiny tot it clasps to the tree’s feet

Placed at the middle it does not bother,
Like a loving child it hugs its mother
Sometimes it is found hanging from the boughs
Like an imp it plays with its mates in rows

With ripening age in kindness it grows­
Yet its innate nature it seldom shows
With a will to do mankind a favour
It fills its heart with sweetness and flavour

No pains, no gains proves true of this big fruit:
Cross the barbed wall that resists like a brute
Then pass the netted fence and press on hard
The sleek mellow cloves will be your reward.