In a honey-suckle covered yard
The summer of forty-eight
She taught him how to pluck pears.
This lonely, southern, lady
Living in an apartment above a store,
That bore her name.
He peeled her pears as instructed
Held in an aroma you could touch
She served them tea in her best china.
On the red-dirt road of his mind
He visits her sun-drenched kitchen
Sip’s tea and shares perfectly ripened pears.
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Author:
Jerry Reynolds (
Offline) - Published: May 14th, 2021 09:32
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 42
Offline)
Comments6
I miss the spring and summer days when it was every young man's delight to follow pear shaped desires freshley squeezed into tight blue jeans or miniskirts along a pathway of desires.
I can well imagine the perfectly ripened pears of your words today exposed in her sun drenched kitchen. Such a warmth of joy it has brought to this cool overcast May day in the heart of England.
Those were the days, thanks, Dusk.
Good write Jerry.
Thanks, Orchi.
Good words Jerry. I too like pears.
Andy
Thanks, Andy. We all do.
Lovely writing 🙂
Thanks, Rose.
Very nice J.R.. And the image above fits very nicely with the red-dirt road of his mind. Nice job.
Thanks, B.T.
this is without any doubt, my most favouwritest Jerry Reynolds poem to date ..
.............. filled to overflowing with vivid imagery and memorable moments ......................
... Neville
Thanks, Neville I was taught well.
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