Attempting a poem a week. Maybe some other musings. Always a work in progress. Satisfaction not guaranteed.

Final Season

A peach tree nears the end of life.
Across decades she has fed lovers
and children, squirrels and crows.
For one final season of abundance 
she will give sweet sustenance 
until none is left.

Branches creak
under the weight of a thousand swollen drupes,
leaves tremble, with every breeze 
she may release her bounty,
offer her ripened flesh 
to fortunate foragers and unsuspecting passers-by.

It is her desire

to be picked clean
stripped of her bark,
her naked essence returned to the earth 
to nurture what comes next.










Agenda

Lamentation