As my shape devolves to pear
I share some of that fruit’s
Ripe delicacy, easiness to bruise;
My skin, so very thin,
Starts to mottle at the least abuse
And blushes in the sun.
Alas the fragrance I am prone to
Would by no one be called “fruity”,
Rather “cheesy;” and cheese does go
With pears; but I think my inner sweetness,
Always there, has now increased –
And will until I rot.
©2010 John I. Blair