Tea with Mrs. Keeling


In the summer of forty eight

Mrs. Keeling taught him how to pluck pears.

In her, honey-suckle covered yard

There were two large old trees.

The, Keeling, house had burned years before.

She was a gracious, lonley, southern, lady

Living in an apartment above a drug store,

That bore her name.

He plucked her pears as instructed.

She served them tea in her best china.

Nothing matched anymore, but

Humbly, did the best she could.

They sat in her, sun drenched, kitchen

Sipped tea and shared perfectly ripened pears,

a divine day for white trash royalty.

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