a lovely sunset
perhaps a ripe peach
or orange
or mandarin
or pomelo
and to some of us
not fruit at all
a lovely sunset
perhaps a ripe peach
or orange
or mandarin
or pomelo
and to some of us
not fruit at all
The lemons have fallen from the bowl
in two neat schoolchildren rows
Is this coincidence or the inscrutable hand of fate?
A mischievous god or a child with a taste
for fun and games and mind games galore
But perhaps, I’m fashioning over-complicated lore
for a few simple fruit I bought from the store
Gold-faced or rosy-cheeked
Some last ripening apples
For the season’s late pickers
Giant anthers of yellow
Honeybees recumbent
Banana pollen
Lemon’s a wonderful spice
And lime’s a great addition —
I’ll fill my basket home
And cache them in my kitchen.
In a book, a few hours encompass a lifetime
And the wisdom gained therein seeps
Like rain into soil
Forgotten and subtle, it may yet feed:
A seedling
A tree
A blossom and fruit