Along Came An Ant, Miss Peach Poem by Kewayne Wadley

Like a fruit,
Ripe from harvest,
Simply hanging, bearing down,
The tree itself, reaches to the heavens,
Far to high to climb, but not impossible,
The fruit itself, a gift grown with time,
A love that simply hangs from the branch,
With lips that thirst, then yearn to taste,
With a step, the journey begins,
He climbs the tree,
Reaching for the only thing to quinch his thrist,
An instinct that goes without knowing, but yet hungers,
With his fruit now in reach, he grabs it,
And takes a seat on the closest branch,
He takes a bite,
Fulfillment courses through his mouth, one never before felt,
Although in abundance of fruit,
Its something about this one,
The height of how it sat,
The plumpness of its touch,
Although afraid of heights, still he climbed to reach the fruit,
If heaven had a height that would be it,
The height of the tree,
A zenith of shadows forecasted against the ground,
Between him, the tree, and the fruit,
The fruit itself, needing fulfillment,
Granted itself to his touch,
Rewarding in a sense of what they've both never known,
To overcome such in a moment of endearment,
The needing of one another to grow, to nurish,
As such a love is one to hold