Persimmon Tree Poem by Prasanta Behera

In old man's front-yard, every fall
the Persimmon tree stands tall
laden with fruits from top to bottom
no one to pluck and hand them.
I wish I could see the old man this evening
to help him enjoy of his own making.
I wait for him as I enjoy the sight
unchained gates do not invite.
like a dream in flight
shadows outshine the light.
I stand and stare
laughing at my struggled affair
of Persimmons that seem so far
be it the old man's home or
in my backyard.

Once in two years I wait for you
but squirrels eat it before I get to you
a struggle brews
new techniques used
to save a few
but squirrels get to it
no matter what I do.
One day my neighbor got a cat
the squirrels seem to have noticed that
the squirrels still mince on the fruits from the top
and leave the bottom ones for us to plop
and that's lucky break I got.