These beautiful things
When you eat the broken fruit
And next, kiss it whole
I don’t want to hear the morn’ coming in; stay at bay.
At my pace, I’ll share my fruit with the wild; bid good day.
When the sun seems warm enough, out I’ll go; come what may.
Truth is, creatures know I can’t resist them; so I stray.
How would the rodents speak
What words would they say
“Yes, you, bring berries to your back yard
And all manner of citrus and apples alike
Fresh, full with fructose, on these barren of days
We planned well for the season
The Winter in May of the Spring
Evidence our good-faith actions
Our holes in diligence dug
Where we find once again, our daily bread
While our feathered Southern friends, oh!
How they need, need, need your hand
We’ll let them dine
Fleeing from the bramble
As though they feel they must
Forsake the soft of the fruit
For the wind in their wings