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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.