I went out at first light and gleaned
The final eight peaches from the tree.
It had been a good peach season this year,
Rain, light, and love in equal measure.
The birds didn’t ruin too many.
The level of sweetness was perfection,
And both the size of the peaches
And the size of the crop were appropriate.
I say eight final peaches,
For that was how many I held in my shirt-tail,
Which I used as a basket, but truly there nine.
That final peach I ate as soon as I plucked it,
Dew-wet and cool in the morning air.
My house was dark and silent,
Only I was up so early, 5:30 AM.
The street was empty as well.
Just me, in my 'grove' of three fruit trees.
My goodness, it was delicious.
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