Pears


(Image copyrighted)

You like soil,

barn smells, and

making music.

 

When you put

your fingers to keys,

heart and soul

find beauty

in your skill.

 

You love God,

your faith is literal,

and your love is strong and

wise enough to feel my heart,

no matter how its faith

differs from yours.

 

This week you played piano,

we sang old Appalachian spirituals,

I danced and clapped,

and we made holy merriment

from our hearts.

 

Late Sunday afternoon,

you delivered fresh, succulent pears

to my front door, picked from your trees,

because you learned that

pears are my favorite.

 

A basket of friendship,

peace and joy given

in juicy, sweet, fresh pears,

the gift of of an overflowing heart,

where all things are.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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