For Sweet Maggie

Some lucky miss, a beauty
Among the rare persimmons, enjoys her
world.

Always exciting, ever surprising.
Laughing
Persimmon, as exotic as a voyage
To some far kingdom, forgotten by others,
No memory except her own.

Cloaking the delectable self
In a story, demanding the tale be told.
Yet, never to betray her inner mirth.

Standing for herself,
Grand, suggesting taste,
Nectaring each slice of apple it kisses.
Oriental, orange, mishapened so slightly.
No need for the magic of becoming.
Pure nature always in its fruit.
Unsung.

Charlene James-Duguid
Amissville, Virginia
12/16/18