After a year unfruited , the tiny tree
droops with its new year’s burden ;
through the dark green leathery leaves
the fruit glows golden like the fabled eggs
of the compliant geese of children's age old tales .
The early mist seems lit up by their glow
and when the sun breaks through the morning damp
the fruits like misshaped suns lie nestled there.

They are a second sunrise for the heart.