26 Fruits


Grapefruit Bank

Sir. Madam.

Winter is nigh.

Outside, all is aged, bare. Bracing.
Biting, chill wind.
Bruised skies.

Through pelted panes, we watch.
Shelter sought; the wet, the wretched. Sodden newspaper, matted hair.
They run.

Inside, the knowing warmth of anticipation. Smug and snug, poor times foretold.
Stay close.
We shiver, for what might have been.
Together we baton down.

Only the bravest minds dare to dream.
Dried corn yellow. Barley grass green. Cyan sky.
Our wait begins.

Our wait.

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