Protective layer of glossy skin,
Mottled red and lightly speckled,
Cannot withstand my closing grin.
Red skin, white flesh, the edges deckeled.
Sweet and tart tumble inside my maw,
Fibrous chunks milled by my gnashers.
Juice trails across my pale paw
As I grip the fruit corpse between my slashers.
Glorious fruit, your bounty behold!
The fruit becomes a part of me,
and I know, as sure as I grow old,
I’ll become a part of that tree.
Diary of a Writerbee 