Beach Plums
How daintily your blossoms cling
Like memories of winter snows;
The maiden promises of spring
That Nature, wakening, bestows;
White as a bridal veil of gauze
O’er branches gnarled like eagle’s claws.
How richly ripe and purple hued
You lure the eager appetite
When autumn yields in kindliest mood
Those luscious globules of delight!
The sylvan elves must brew that taste
From sea and dune and scented waste.
For only skill like theirs could blend
From woodland wild and rolling brine
Such flavors. Or perchance they lend
Their elven powers to those divine
So that the tang of earth and sky
Is mingled in their alchemy.
Or were some darker rites invoked
Some ritual of the churchman’s hell;
Malignant imps and beldams cloaked
In blackness capering neath the spell
Of gibbous moons obscure and lone -
Such witchcraft we might yet condone.
Yes, though we know not whence you came
Your sweet caresses to the tongue
Would still delight us just the same
Whether from day or darkness sprung;
Content and carefree, from the stems
To pluck such epicurean gems.