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Pineapples
February 6, 2015
Pineapples are like dreams,
Taste of wonders, their color gleams.
Near my house sits a pineapple shop,
Awaits for buyers by the train-stop.
Father and I would often walk there,
And take home a dream for us to share.
And the sweet trace of those dreams,
Waltzing down the walkway with the summer breathe streams.
The time with father I'll remember,
Along with the waltzing smell of the pineapples that September.
© Michael A., Spartanburg, SC
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