Bashed, Battered, Bee Bitten and Stomped
By Janis Graybill


Oh, look at my hands, they are sandpaper rough,
Stained brown from the pears that I've
Quartered and peeled, boiled and sealed,
In jars that are half gallon size,

The beauty of those jars, all the work it belies!
What went into those I'll describe.
I went out under the tree, and there I did see
All the bees in the county arrive to drill holes
In the pears and leave caves big as bears.
Not only that, they were battered and stomped.

When they fell from the tree they squashed don't you see
So half of each pair is a loss.
They've been battered and bumped, bashed and thumped
And yes, even chewed by the dogs.
By the middle of the day I'm tempted to say,
"The rest of them go to the hogs"!

But after a rest I return with a zest
To the pears that are bashed, battered bee bitten and stomped.
Stomped, you say? Well they got in the way
When the kids were riding the horses.

I stand here amazed as I lovingly gaze
At those jars that are half gallon size.
They are full to the brim with slices so trim
From those pears that were
bashed, battered, bee bitten and stomped.
No judge at the fair would notice them there,
But to me they deserve 1st prize!