The Peach

English: White peach and its cross section isolated on a white background (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

As the warm breeze blows,

and the Sun‘s kisses come

the newness quickly goes

until the ripeness touches some.

Plucked from it’s place… the most perfect choice

with a golden yellow treasure

that’s true description has no voice.

The sweetest of pleasures nature has to taste,

guarded only by a fuzzy soft skin.

To devour in a moment of haste

would be such a sin.

In many ways, love is like a peach

often wasted in sin

Devoured in moments of haste

Guarded only by soft skin

And why not?

It is some of the sweetest pleasure nature has to taste

and when you’re in it… it’s description has no voice.

Because it is a treasure

and only in it’s time and place is that love the perfect choice.

When it ripens …it touches all

kissing those that feel it with the warmth of the Sun.

Making lovers sway in the warm breeze of days that are done.

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• What is this half-remembered poem about motherhood and peaches? (ask.metafilter.com)
• Too Ripe or Not Too Ripe (toxicfoodie.org)
• BellaSugar’s Top Five Peach Blush Picks (bellasugar.com)

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