A boy gave me a compliment:
He told me I was like a fig.
I gave him a quizzical look.
He explained that I was as rich like one.
And so I considered its merit:
sweet pink flesh
safely encased in a teardrop skin,
the secret to a fine lamb stew...
How delightful. I'll take it.
I am a fig.
And rich like one.
What a wholly unique and delicious compliment.
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