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Here's a poem
I found that I love:
On a wooden swing hanging
From the highest bough
Of her backyard pear tree,
We learned to fly at the speed of dreams,
On summer afternoons.
Leaning back and gripping rusted chairs,
looking far up into the thick foliage
That hid the dark limbs that held us.
Before I knew of fallen fruit
or how spring winds waste pear blossoms,
I knew her.
She flew unfettered,
Where dreams grew slow like winter pears
only to ripen and fall in late summer.
Here under a pear tree,
Drooping with fruit,
I dreamt her here.
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