You remember the juice of the peach that you bit,
But discarded its heart, this dried up peach pit,
Not long ago, I first appeared as a bud in spring,
Which brought joy and dreams of the fruit it could bring.
As the weeks went on the flowers did glow,
As the tree proudly offered this prize to show.
With each day the peach grew,
and its colors changed too,
The fruit grew so large as the season would end
Causing many stout branches to bow and to bend.
All the peaches you cherished, some canned and some froze
To make pies and cobblers that delighted your tongue and your nose.
But what of the pits, each bearing a seed you can’t see?
Were they cast in the trash with no chance to be a tree?
So, ponder this gem in your hand and begin
To imagine the life that is nestled within.
Original poem by John Errante, 9.3.22