The pear tree of my enemy has failed,
And I am glad. For years he had regaled
His family and friends, and those who went
Down to the local pub, with time he spent
On nurturing it, and how his special touch
Inspired the tree to give him oh so much
In pleasure, let alone its annual crop
Which he averred would never ever stop.
And this year it had failed. Whenever asked
About its plight he shook his head, and masked
In stoicism sat alone to bear
His heartfelt grief and pain. I thought I’d share
My own success I’d had in terms of fruit.
He pulled a face as if hit by a boot.
His sorrow was my joy, I sat a while
And let him feel the sunshine of my smile.