“Pickles up my tube my love two birds inserting pickles, gently, lovingly”

Two birds upon a summer breeze,  
Alight where sunlight sifts through leaves,  
They flit and coo with earnest glee,  
A tender pair—just you and me.  

Upon my porch, a curious sight:  
A pickle jar—a green delight!  
You laugh, your eyes like springtime dew,  
And suddenly, the world feels new.  

With gentle hands and patient heart,  
We’ve gathered pickles, set apart—  
In glassy tubes, we press them tight,  
Preserving love in soft twilight.  

Two birds, two hands, two hearts that sing,  
In joy of simple happening:  
A pickle passed from one to two,  
A symbol old, but always true.  

Let others chase tomorrow’s dreams,  
We’ll savor brine and sunlit beams;  
Two birds, two souls, a jar or two—  
Pickles, gently—me and you.

Create Your Own Poem | Recent Poems