Ripe Fruit Poem by James McLain

James McLain

James McLain

From Tampa Florida And Still Living Near By

Ripe Fruit



I see her ever smiling face.
Aloft I hold a flag.
The fruit she sells.
It keeps us all alive.

The avacodos picked when green.
Tan blond peaches everywhere.
Purple grapes and tangerines.
Are called out, hawking wares.

The smell of water mellon,
seems to fill the humid air.
She comes each day and always stops,
ripe fruit, is eaten there.

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James McLain

James McLain

From Tampa Florida And Still Living Near By
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