I feel the need to post this for the sake of symmetry. Can't short-change the girl children. This is quite old and was just taken last year. Marianne Moore said that you should not give up on a poem until it had been seen by 40 editors. She was right.
Franz K. Baskett
My daughters have bitten into a quince.
Faces wet with tears and mouths wrenched shut
As if they had chewed the original apple,
They burst into the kitchen like a squall.
Lots of water clears the mistake.
I remind them that I told them not to.
And tell them it won’t be until
First frost that quince is fit to eat.
Chastened, careful, they go back to play
But they will pause sometime at make-believe
Tomorrow or today, vaguely precocious
Of some coming bitter knowledge
That only time and frost
For S. W. & S. K.