The Invention of Perry. By P.B. Phillips.
Once upon a time, in a land where the orchard set the tone
There lived a little rebellious tree, she was shunned and stood alone.
Set apart from the apples, she grew tall and daintily bejewelled with fruit
Others in her grove saw how fine she looked, yet none would follow suit.
Then came harvest time, she refused the farmer who tried to pick her crop
Our brave young tree, rebuffed his grabby grabber and ordered him to stop.
A few years on, a cider maker came to collect the windfalls, to make his joyous drink
There he spied our heroine’s bounty, elegant top with a big round bottom coloured pink.
‘See here’, old pippin said, ‘enough is enough now. We are apples and apples fill our bough’
Our pretty tree replied haughtily, ‘You just don’t understand me’, and gave her rival a sullen, sulky scowl.
Pipin pontificated, ‘God gave us a purpose, to tempt Eve we must
‘She is to nibble our flesh or else Adam will turn to dust!’
Cider Maker would hear no old bitter apple’s plea
His naughty eyes saw only two things upon our special tree.
Espalier knew she had found her future, her heartwood filled with sap
Love filled her very being, if he asked her, she would up-roots to sit upon his lap.
Sunset lit the evening, gentle scent drifted on the autumn breeze
Cider Maker bowed, vowed his devotion and fell upon his knees.
Enamored with the beauty of variety he sampled her fruit with care
‘Tender, sweet, cuppable, caressable. Wow! What a lovely pear!’
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