Among the orchard dwellers, once,
There arose an urgent quest
Which fruit was most beautiful,
The tastiest, and the best?
The apple brought the question
Of beauty to the fore,
Quite certain that his waxy sheen
Meant delicious to the core.
The pear added quietly
And blushed just a tiny bit,
“I think I have the sweetest taste,
And, besides, I have true grit.”
The plum replied, with flirty cheek,
“I’m a taste of pure delight.
Please, kiss my face, and you will find.
Honeyed nectar in each bite“
“Pshaw!” said the apple to the plum.
You’re a Damson in distress.
Whenever faced with pressing times,
You’re just jelly, and no less.”
The honeydew was overworked
He’d no time to chat and rest.
Nevertheless, he was convinced
His rotundness made him blessed.
The cherries bobbed in cheery song
Bright red baubles on the tree.
But someone mentioned hidden pips,
Casting shadow on their glee.
The rouged-red peach persuaded
In sultry, dripping tones,
Was reminded of her clingy ways,
And, again, the secret stones.
The cantaloupe sighed and rolled away
With a melancholy air,
Coral depths, smooth and succulent,
Yet he’s shyly unaware.
The bananas, an appealing bunch,
Gave assent to every word.
Their opinion slipped, side to side,
Swayed by every voice they heard.
“Look at girth!” Watermelon spoke.
“I’m the greatest, I’m afraid.”
Said Grape, “A seedy fellow you are,
Idling too long in the shade.”
A chorus ensued; clustered grapes
All whined in one accord.
“Consider us, our choice bouquet,
The finest vintage ever poured!”
The orange didn’t join the fray.
His own navel held his gaze.
He believed a day without his juice
Was a day without Sun’s rays.
The bright berries, soft and mellow,
Nodded gently in the breeze,
Their tender and quiet presence
No match for the laden trees.
Arrived the day for which they longed!
A rich harvest from each vine,
Each branch, each stalk, each leafy stem,
Abundant, blessed, divine.
Each piece of fruit was cleaved away
From hardened. concealed hearts
Rugged rinds and skins, peeled and pared,
To reveal the choicest parts.
All sliced together, a salad,
Flavours mingle, simple, fair,
A symphony of taste and colour
No contest, but pleased to share.
The orchard chorus is silent.
As voices cease their quest.
And instead, a blended medley,
Compliments each other’s best.
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