When time is ripe it seems simply ready to be picked (lightly)
on the Tree of Life, its luscious fruit
drizzling nectar, trickling sweetly
down some sloppy chin, bursting with flavor
and opportunity sans effort. I like this image of
Perfect time, like perfect love, is "A ripe fruit waiting
to be plucked," but there's that problem
with the plucked word, L-O-L!
We know we can trust
when we never worry about hearing
from loved ones. So safe so true so right so unforced
Is this place that they are one of the precious and few
We have no worries (ever) about making connections.
There are some relationships that never rot
and yet are green with renewal
and most brilliantly of all
Are neither brittle nor unripened. So call
When the time is ripe, and know
that my love is with you
Call when the moment is waiting to be plucked
and nary a moment before.
(Photograph and Poem Copyright 2001 by Darius Gottlieb - No reproduction without express permission from the author)
