Friday, April 4, 2014
By Charles Simic There was a melon fresh from the garden So ripe the knife slurped As it cut it into six slices. The children were going back to school. Their mother, passing out paper plates, Would not live to see the leaves fall. I remember a hornet, too, that flew in Through the open window Mad to taste the sweet fruit While we ducked and screamed, Covered our heads and faces, And sat laughing after it was gone.