Our tree,
Is pregnant,
With plums.
The fruit,
Is facetious,
And fickle.
It teases,
Nearly turning,
Perfect purple.
Promising,
Ripe flesh,
Tender and sweet.
Then dropping,
To the sidewalk,
Splitting open wide.
Moments before,
I deem it,
Ready for picking.
A disappoint most unexpected… A turn for the good of the poem…
our ever-bearing mulberry
hosts a conclave of cardinals,
unafraid of our shrieking
attempts to drive them away
I enjoy how you command my attention from the start!
Our tree,
Is pregnant,
With plums.
Pingback: ข่าวการศึกษา
Pingback: วิธีเล่นสล็อต Caishen Wins ออนไลน์