Address to the last banana
Why are you yellow, with patches of brown, why are you bent like a bow
why is your inside all yellowish pulp, that's what I'd like to know
you dont have a stalk, you could speak of, you dont even have seeds inside
but you lay there asleep in that fruit bowl, like an old stick without cares or pride
the apples and pears are crispy and fresh, the oranges shiny and bright
but you, old banana, are shabby and dull, such a pitifull sight
if nobody chooses to eat you soon, you could end your days in the trash
or be fed to the chickens with peelings and crusts, and yesterdays leftover mash
so buck your ideas up, look a bit brighter, then maybe I'll peel you to eat
or perhaps I will make a dessert out of you, with stawberries and cream as a treat