She loved to love
With gardening gloves
Scrubbed and scoured
Not too sour
Ripe and ready to be devoured
To nurture and feed
And spread their seeds
Have them take root
In soil nourished by soot
Flourished with fruit
But when they bruised
She got confused
How can this be?
How could this happen to me?
She knew she must've forgotten
Something, for they were looking rotten
Soft and dull and full of worms
The sight made her stomach churn
So she cut into them, sliced off all the spots
In the end what she forgot
Was that they could not
Always be perfect
YOU ARE READING
Escapril 2020
PoesieA poetry collection based on prompts from @letsescapril on Instagram
