There’s a pair of pears
Down there.
And a third has fared
Somewhere.
Maybe it rolled downhill
To be feasted on by a squirrel.
Or a raccoon gave the tree a whirl
And its belly is sweetly filled.
I was going to pick them some day
Before one was stolen away
And the other two left where they lay
As if they wanted to say:
No plan is so sound
It can’t fall on the ground.
Writing Every Day 