(Clearly i’m on a roll today! must be the no sleep).
The words form like fruit in the tree of the mind,
If left too long, the birds of distraction
Peck away, leaving only, and even then
Only perhaps, a husk to make more fertile grounds.
Pick it too soon and hope against hope
As you force it to ripen that comes out right,
But the skin is too green and the flavor is wrong,
Though sometimes you can catch it at
Just the right time, and nurture it in a
Paper bag, and when it is ready,
Even through the slight tartness,
You can barely tell the difference.
And sometimes, the fruit falls,
Perfect in it’s form, succulent in
Its cadence, from the tree of the
Mind, directly to the mouth.
