“While I slept you stood in the colorful night market with pyramids of bright fruit piled high Where those who loved you, rushing back to their intimate stalls, held out pears that had been dreamed for you And would the… — Brenda Hillman Copy Share Image
A pear should come to the table popped with juice, Ripened in warmth and served in warmth. On terms Like these, autumn beguiles the fatalist. — Wallace Stevens Copy Share Image
