Uncle Bill must have had big plans for those cherries. When he heard that I’d been climbing the cherry tree in the back yard eating up the cherries he was most unhappy with me. You can’t give back a juicy, sweet cherry once you’ve eaten it. But, really, those particular cherries – illegally seized right from the tree – were the best dang cherries I ever ate.
Please use the open space to share your first 50 words on the topic “a bowl of cherries” or on some topic suggested by the image.
First 50 Words - Prompts for Writing Practice 
Bite the cherry that disappears
before my eyes,
too quickly to taste the hidden seed
Now you see it, now you don’t
Bite the cherry that disappears
before its promised juices
reach my tongue
Now you taste it, now you don’t.
A game of cat and mouse that no one wins.
Like this very much!
thank you grannysu, its a longer poem but I cut it to 50 words, wasnt sure if it worked byt very much appreciate your feedback
Four trees lined along the backyard fence
Christmas red and green,
and swarming in the branches
all of us, the cherry pickers,
scratched legs and freckled faces,
a gaggle of magpies chattering
as we picked and picked and picked
through long June mornings,
filling dark enamel canner pots
with tart ruby fruit.
When the trees were bare
we streamed inside for peanut-butter-and-jelly
on soft white bread.
Then the afternoons under the spreading water maple,
pitting one cherry at a time,
quarreling, hands pink and sticky with juice,
tired but there was no quitting
until the black pot was empty
and the washpans were full.
The bowl of warm cherries
covered with sweet cobbler topping,
swimming in cold milk:
labor paid in full.