The Peach

 

Like a dream, she’s peachesand cream.

Fuzzy skin tasting of milk andhoney.

She blossoms but once a year.

To fruit through fame and fear.

‘Though she’s got nomoney.

She blushes, red on yellow gold.

In days so bright and sunny.

Her, I must hold, beforeshe’s old.

I laugh, though it’s notfunny.

For though I hold her in my hand,

And her juices flow to my tummy.

She’s just a fruit from atree.

And never will be my honey.

Copyright 2001 © Ronald W. Hull

 5/6/01