At The Plum-Tree Poem by Gert Strydom

Packed with sour-sweet fruit,
heavy hangs the branches of the plum tree,
the smell is both sweet and bitter,
and bees and beetles buzz around
where the purple fruit does fall,
do burst open after the rain.

The fruits are purple but red inside
lovely with every bite,
where I pick buckets full
for eating and for jam.

You smile at me with both eyes and lips,
the morning is bright while you eat
and I am picking some ripe fruit for you
while you swallow me with your glance.

© Gert Strydom