Your fruits will stain the pathways
Of our neighborhood,
Reminding us of the messiness
That litters our world.
The gutted, scattered, shriveled skins,
The discarded seeds,
These, along with your weary branches
Will mar this scene;
This pretty, pink, pungent procession
That escorts me out;
A spring promenade of colorful welcoming
That beckons me home,
Invites me to get a little closer and inhale.