<html><head><meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=us-ascii"></head><body style="word-wrap: break-word; -webkit-nbsp-mode: space; line-break: after-white-space;" class=""><div style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal;" class="">Turkish Pears</div><div style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal;" class=""><br class=""></div><div style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;" class="">Sometimes a poem has her own husband</div><div style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;" class="">And children, her nooks and gardens and kitchens,</div><div style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;" class="">Her stairs, and those sweet-armed serving boys</div><div style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;" class="">Who carry veal in shiny copper pans.</div><div style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;" class="">Some poems do give plebeian sweets</div><div style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;" class="">Tastier than the chocolates French diners</div><div style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;" class="">Eat at evening, and old pleasures abundant</div><div style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;" class="">As Turkish pears in the garden in August. </div><div style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; font-family: Times; min-height: 23px;" class=""><br class=""></div><div style="margin: 0px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;" class=""><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>- Robert Bly</div><div class=""><br class=""></div></body></html>