Beach Plums

How daintily your blossoms cling Like memories of winter snows; The maiden promises of spring That Nature, wakening, bestows; White as a bridal veil of gauze O’er branches gnarled like eagle’s claws. How richly ripe and purple hued You lure the eager appetite When autumn yields in kindliest mood Those luscious globules of delight! The sylvan elves must brew that taste From sea and dune and scented waste. For only skill like theirs could blend From woodland wild and rolling brine Such flavors. Or perchance they lend Their elven powers to those divine So that the tang of earth and sky Is mingled in their alchemy. Or were some darker rites invoked Some ritual of the churchman’s hell; Malignant imps and beldams cloaked In blackness capering neath the spell Of gibbous moons obscure and lone - Such witchcraft we might yet condone. Yes, though we know not whence you came Your sweet caresses to the tongue Would still delight us just the same Whether from day or darkness sprung; Content and carefree, from the stems To pluck such epicurean gems.