A Gift of Fruit
Natalie Crick

I am waiting in shadow.
Shy.
Close enough to touch

Round syrup-sweet berries,
Lush flushed strawberries,
Peaches bursting open

Mint bruised, perfumed for lips.

Hummingbirds gather,
Treacle oils of summer
Lingering on the tongue,

Splashes of crimson
Spilling over lingonberries,
Pooling amber juices.

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