Fall Harvest

The sky is falling, orange and round In quantities that do astound Collecting morning, noon, and night Even in dark, with a flashlight And all of this from one main tree Thank God we don’t have two or three They’re washed and put into the freeze When thawed, the skins come off with ease And then, I run them though a mill The pulp goes through, but it’s uphill A gallon in is a pint out That’s plus or minus, thereabouts It is a lot of work, it seems, Persimmon ice cream, it’s a dream