The Dessert

Upon the counter, bathed in morning light,

A pastry waiting for the world to wake,

A golden crust of flaky, buttery white,

A quiet promise that the day will break.

And nestled deep within this golden bed,

A harvest born of summer's gentle rain:

The velvet blackberry, the raspberry red,

The sweet blueberry curing winter’s pain.

With apricot, a glossy glaze is spread,

To catch the sun and make the colors gleam,

Where every lingering shadow must give tread,

And heavy sorrow softens to a dream.

A single slice—a mosaic of sweet grace,

Where tart meets honeyed warmth upon the tongue,

A bright, triumphant morning for the face,

A song of hope, forever newly sung.

So let the bitter fade, the cold depart,

And taste the colors rising from the earth;

There is a vibrant healing in this tart,

A quiet celebration of rebirth.