Summer’s Art

Deserted, you lie on bed of dirt,

Alone, neglected, forsaken;

And yet, you seem to feel no hurt

And no offense is taken.

Smothered by fuzz from cottonwood trees,

Pummelled by showers, whipped by wind;

Haunted by vistas of swarming bees,

Dangers without, trepidations within –

And still, you offer on platter of praise

Your juiciest, tastiest, berriest heart;

As soaking up sun in all its rays,

Your bountiful treasure becomes summer’s art.

4 comments on “Summer’s Art

  1. I grew strawberries for some years. Never asked for anything just produced flowers and fruit. Lovely.

  2. Mummy grows strawberries and they are just coming up to picking time. She tried to get pigtures of us eating some today but whee ate them too fast. Oops! Blink and you’ll miss it!

    Nibbles, Nutty, Bingo & Buddy

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