A Sprig Of Pear Blossom Poem by Mark Heathcote

Her heart was a sprig of pear blossom
He wanted to pick from a spring bough,
And as a bug in its microcosm,
Wanting one day, he should live somehow

In her petals, he cried, spoke out loud
All his thoughts following-their-instincts;
He practically sobbed tears becloud,
But her smile hijacked all the cynics.

Making fools of busy-buzzing-bees
And sent the mystics back underground
Fearful of the spider in trapeze
Who is no longer with them housebound?

Tempted to weep in their eiderdown
Marry that first-morning dew to fall
As he snapped that young sprig in two
Her white blossoms flew, fell by default.