Anticipation

The graceful limbs of the peach

Yearn gently to the embrace of the Sun:

She clothes herself in cool green leaves

And their children bloom and brighten

Nestled in her emerald finery, warmed by his regard,

Soft in their newborn skin.

Each day I make my pilgrimage

To stand beneath her dancing form

And palp those golden swelling fruit.

How firm to the touch! How velvet!

Mouth waters in anticipation

Of that luscious burst of nectar.

I sigh that I must wait another day

And more, for the ripening

For these are yet still sharp in scent, unyielding:

And in the meantime, what?

Will some ungracious squirrel carry them away?

Will they fall to the heedless Earth, promise unfulfilled?