SILK ... Maureen Clifford © The #ScribblyBark Poet
There is no more fruit,
stained fingers attest to that -
all the mulberries have gone
the tree now festooned only with
dew drops and spiders webs,
and my helper,
desire still rampant in his eye
is covered in the remnants of
the sweet explosion
he has just devoured.
Passing strangers look at him and smile.
One little boy - in the September sunshine,
arms and legs scratched, hair tousled,
cheeks and lips red as the berries,
clutching, like the laurel wreath of a victor,
a handful of mulberry leaves
for his silkworms at home.