Fruit

Take care of thine blessings

For not all are so lucky

To find one to enjoy its treat

A small tree sits in the meadow

Its fruit not famous nor farmed,

Unique and tasted never

No one knew, none grew curious,

None starving nor poor passed through

Every year the fruit fell cold

No new kin grew for the tree

To create more food unlike the all others

Only one gives notice

To the tree, a boy

He looks, picks no fruit

Eyes dash around

The branches are judged

Minutes pass

The tree falls

It withers

The fruit wasted forever

One thought inside the boy,

“Too ugly is such a plant

To continue growing”