Texas Plum

Sweet plums are plucked from trees,

That bloom and summon the bees.

Ripe plums burst in my mouth,

And the hard pit, I spit out.

Dad said to that we were too poor

To buy treats and sweats from the store.

So if we wanted a snack,

We ran to the tree out back,

And plucked fruit from the swaying limb

Bountiful and plenty, grown to the brim.

Unless the bag worms came to stay.

With a torch we scorched them away,

Set fire to the white webs and sack,

But sometimes they still came back.

Even the birds wanted us to share!

No, not me, I ran and screamed to scare

Them away, black wings spread to fly

High up like a black cloud in the sky.

We harvested the fruit to freeze or cook.

We spread a tarp and the limbs shook.

Drop, drop, the ripe fruit would fell,

Carefully, we added plums to our pail,

Checking for worms as we collected,

And our favorites were selected,

To show off and compare

And to eat right there.

Spit the pits at each other,

Till told to stop by our mother.

And when the summer died to fall,

We would rake up leaves and all.

Bare limbs would mark the slumber

Of bark and limbs till spring's plunder.