Come on, let’s go and eat mulberries.

Please, come to the garden with me.
Take my hand, breakfast is waiting
Underneath leaves on that tree.

Stand with me here on the threshold,
Look, love, over there are the leaves.
Heart-shaped with all a heart’s plumpness
And pointed for all a heart grieves.

From calm cool and darkness inside
We’ll cross into blazing gold light.
Sunrise is melting the shadows,
Its fingers are closing the night.

Down the steps into the garden,
Bare feet on dew-twinkling grass.
Savour the smell of the morning,
With warmth it will dissipate fast.

Overhead there’s a living mosaic
Of sunlight, green leaves, sky’s blue band.
See those red cones? They are the fruits.
Reach to the branch with your hand.

Don’t mind the twigs beneath on the ground.
They are thornless and do feet no harm.
Now, pick your fruit. Be careful, mind,
The juices will run down your arm.

What do you think? Did you like that?
Was it luscious and fragrant and sweet?
Is an open-air mulberry breakfast
The ultimate hedonist’s treat?