So the freshness lives on in a lemon, in the sweet-smelling house of the rind, the proportions, arcane and acerb.
We can only penetrate the rind of the earth.
Arab children, Corn ears of the future, You will break our chains, Kill the opium in our heads, Kill the illusions. Arab children, Don't read about our suffocated generation, We are a hopeless case. We are as worthless as a water-melon rind. Dont read about us, Dont ape us, Dont accept us, Dont accept our ideas, We are a nation of crooks and jugglers. Arab children, Spring rain, Corn ears of the future, You are the generation That will overcome defeat.
We live not in our moments or our years: The present we fling from us like the rind Of some sweet future, which we after find Bitter to taste.
Mellow nuts have the hardest rind.
We are like the watermelons. Each of us has a crusty external rind. A case that both protects us and keeps others out. The closer you get to the middle, that is to say - the closer you get to the heart - the sweeter we get.
Followers of trails and of seasons, breakers of camp in the little dawn wind, seekers of watercourses over the wrinkled rind of the world, o seekers, o finders of reasons to be up and be gone.
Sweetest nut hath sourest rind.
We live merely on the crust or rind of things.
