Two stone fruits, both alike in dignity,
In my ktichen, where we lay our scene.

One, fresh from Colesworth, round and tight, even colour, big and bold.

The other, a little worn and small, somewhat aged in visage, overlong (so I thought) on the garden tree.

The first, visually enticing, but half rotten, half unripe inside - thrown into the compost. A fitting end.

The other, less appealing at face, but evenly ripe and melt-in--the-mouth luscious inside, tart and sweet together, a worthy bearer of the name 'nectarine'.

Nectar-ine, indeed!