Isaac


The summer evening is pellucid.
The sun is propitious in its prime.

Gazing central most position,
from the field of thyme.

The tart-crisp Earth,
mumbles from the Appalachian hearth.

The freckled pears dribble
from the dry splintered bark above.

Baring witness to the doting man,
made of endless love.

Among his greatest pieces,
came a work if art.

Amidst the venerable fruit sat,

my
plump
unrippened
heart.

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