The heirloom pear was sick.
The tall strong tree
With fruit heavy, sweet, juice dripping on my chin
Had leaves blackened and dead.
To save it, we cut away all the diseased limbs.
All that remained was the trunk
and two small short skinny sorry limbs.
Today there are fat blossom buds
ready to burst.
I've enjoyed all your poems, but this one is particularly excellent--the image--and suggestions of correlating human experiences--coexist here and make it more powerful. I'm very glad the tree is bearing fruit now and thriving.
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