Your kids hands snug in adult
Gloves know only the bitter-
Sweet fruits of this life
But as a child know not
Limitations of appetite

Over-ripe, my descent
Into russeted hands, yours
Un-reliant without branch
But craving caress of tongue;
I went straight from palm

To gut; so easy did i pass
'Til compost i composed
Myself, knowing I would rise
Again for someone else -
Until uprooted.