Stretching bare arms toward heaven in supplication
For the gift of youth recalled,
The strength for one more summer’s crop,
We know your time has come.
Still I granted you life,
Reprieve from saw and axe,
for one more season.
And the fruit weighing down your tired old branches
being fit for the birds only,
I patiently collect,
Before the creatures of the soil
can claim it for their own.
Thrush and blackbird drunk on rotting fruit,
sing in gratitude,
and my heart rejoices