They seem to be stood in a cluster
Haphazardly placed and yet
If you stand to one side and look closer
In parallel lines they are set
Old now with bark that's rough and gnarled
The branches lean almost to the floor
Heavy and laden with ripe plump fruit
Ready for harvest and some put to store
Bramley's that are nearly the size of a football
Ripened and soft and prettily green
Hang by stalks that are far too frail
Though quite majestic like a queen
The air is alight with sweet fragrance
Ruby red plums quiver ready to be picked
Sometimes the pickers need a ladder
Or nudge them down with a large wooden stick
Basket upon basket of peach, plum and pear
An orchestra of full mellow scent
Shiny jewels that suspend and wait
Their patience will not relent
