The Pear Tree
Today the ninety-year-old pear tree
In my neighbors' garden
Stricken with petals
Is white all over
Startling as a cry
Its every branch and shoot
Spur twig and spray
Has broken into blossom
And every blossom
Is flinging itself open
Wide open
Disclosing every tender filament
Sticky with nectar
Beaded with black pollen.
Anne Porter
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