Every year during
April, May, and June
A Tree Blooms and
Holds the plumpest
Pears anyone has seen

Down the hill
That holds the tree
Is a beautiful cottage
Within its walls
A family of three

With a basket
Father, Mother, and daughter
Trek up the hill
They pick fruit
And fill the basket

The years pass
And the daughter grows
The door opens to
Father and daughter
Clad in depressed black




No pears are
Picked that year but
Tulips and roses are
Laid at the
Trees old, protruding roots

More years pass
Daughter gains a child
Grandfather gains a wheel-chair
More pears are
Picked and baskets filled

Grandfather’s flowers join
His wives and generations
Come and go but
The tree bears
Its fruit for all