The Ripe Guavas

on top of a hill
beside a cliff
the branches of
the guava tree
are filled with
ripe fruits

a bird with
small wings
flew and
perched on
one of the
branches

it is pecking
on the biggest
and the ripest

which at any
moment may fall
right on the
sharp rocks
just below
the cliff

where the hands
of death keep on
waving

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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