Mulberry Trees
When I was a girl
Very young and small
On the church's plaground
Grew a mulberry tree
Gnarled, wide and tall.
We would stand on the picnic tables
Beneath the mighty tree
And pluck the fruits from its branches
And eat our fill of that sweet.
But one day they removed the tree
And built a large building where it once stood.
Just last year,
I discovered another mulberry tree
Though this one was far smaller
Than the tree of my memory
It had many branches coming from one trunk
And it had many fruits for me to eat.
Sadly, they were more sour than sweet.
Outside my current apartment,
I was pleased to find a mulberrry tree
That, in my opinion, is solely mine.
It grows beside the bayou
Where brackish waters flow
Where ducks swim
And fish jump with a splash
Across the way,
I see grass like a wetland
And from time to time
I see a snowy heron stalking along.
Just once I saw some turtles.
And often I see ducklings.
The bayou and that mulberry tree
are my daily respite.
For over the water,
I watch the golden sunrise.
And I wait for that fruit to ripen
And then it shall be mine.
Sharon
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