W I T H A C H E R R Y O N T O P
CHERRY-RIPE
BY THOMAS CAMPION
There is a garden in her face
Where roses and white lilies blow;
A heavenly paradise is that place,
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow:
There cherries grow which none may buy
Till “Cherry-ripe” themselves do cry.
Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds filled with snow;
Yet them no peer nor prince can buy
Till “Cherry-ripe” themselves do cry.
Her eyes like angels watch them still;
Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that attempt with eye or hand
Those sacred cherries to come nigh,
Till “Cherry-ripe” themselves do cry.
This insightful poem by Thomas Campion pairs perfectly with my still-life shot for obvious reasons. As this photo shows a pile of cherries that have in fact been picked, one can assume that “Cherry-ripe” they themselves did cry…
Thank you so much for reading, along with your feedback and up-votes. For more content like this, along with creative writing, visit my blog.
Previous stand-alone+poetry combo posts:
Previous Photography Collections:
https://steemit.com/photography/@jacqueline.ohara/emma-a-photoshoot-of-subtle-tones
My Personal Introduction: