Blue plums

 

The blue plums of melancholy

Are sweetened by the setting sun.

Though theirs is not a forbidden tree,

You should limit your heart to one.

As shadows grow they all blush blue

And peek out at the violet hour,

Their skins are wet with evening dew;

And is it ever in your power

To take just one or even two?

Let limes be sharp and lemons sour,

Let oranges glow and apples shine;

The fragrant cherries of desire,

The apricot and peach divine,

Are for the sunshine to inspire;

Blue plums are for the day’s decline—

They ripen while the rest retire.

There’s so much night before tomorrow!

You stroll the lonesome walks alone,

Your heart is nearly drunk with sorrow;

Each plum you eat down to its stone.

You taste the good in all goodbyes,

You embrace defeat and all your neighbors;

These may all be but small blue lies,

But the truest fruits of all our labors

Are sure to be blue plums, have to be

Blue plums, when all is sad and done,

The blue plums of melancholy

That sweeten in the setting sun.