Persimmons
Oh persimmons, you’re drippin’
Gold on the trees.
Soft as the hush in a cold evening breeze.
On colder mornings, you’re fire in the skies
Sugar in silence, where the wild crow flies.
Winter is sweet, in a hushed kind of way…
Warmth can hide deep in the heart of the day.
The branches made bare, but the fruit still gleams…
A drop of ol’ sun, in the season of dreams.
Lovely!
This is gorgeous. It reads like winter itself is speaking in a soft hush. I could feel the gold and quiet warmth in every line. “A drop of ol’ sun, in the season of dreams,” that’s pure magic.