The Guava Tree

Behind our house used to be a guava tree,

Where my brother and I often sat for free.

Leaning against its cool creamish trunk,

We would chatter and sing till the sun sunk.

Sometimes we helped peel its exhausted barks

In which we had once carved our marks.

For sport, we picked up the chalky soft pebbles,

and hit the empty tank to make trebles.

Sitting at its base during its driest days,

We prayed that Spring would grant it a new face,

hoping for fruits in the lower branches for us

to pluck, and lots more on top for surplus.


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