Cherry groves

In these high days the fruit trees bow so low

The cherry spreads its sweep to brush soft pates

Of shrouded idlers slumbered through the grove

Above hand's rest hang all the jewels to sate

Any appetite.

                     Why scale the smooth ringed trunk

When there is fruit to hand to make you sick

Ripe fruit to hand to get you giddy drunk

And baskets brim from catch of beaten sticks.

Would it be greed to leave this tussock

Reach like apes, curious amongst the branch

To push and pull the lush sweet summer luck

Or derelict to spurn these gifts, this chance.

What paths to muse, lain prone in cherry groves

With windfall presents, these sweet merry odes.