Trees and vines tired yield fatty fruit apples grapes figs pears and plums tried of a risible sun they surmised (if plants could) they’d never leave home tied to secret crawling roots.
Birds bees and woe wacky wasps buff yellowjackets give peppery ear to where teeny seeds well watered sprout and flume into chalice gold tomatoes peppers gourds hot yams.
Sockets and bracelets ankled deep and wristed waisted random gloved catch the yawning blue moon lured by lovers deep smell a wet garbage vinegar a hand harvest work party.
Purple night suckered us here dilly dally by the sap empty sugar shack waiting by the swelled bushels sour jobs lasting summer into sweet fall and to think we happily volunteered.
The Coming of the Toads 