In Winter many spheres do bring to me
a joy beyond sensation both of pain
and pleasure. Sunlight tickles fruit’s wide tree;
causing the rind to shine in man-made rain
and underneath that smooth and textured shell
whose color married rose and daisy, there
in spread a lattice gown perfumed in smell
that bids the hand to peel, divide with care
the bounded segments filled with sour honey.
the rounded prisms serve as complexes built
to house each solid, sweet tear; each sea
when magnified reveals still more to lilt,
for though my eyes cannot see this close,
I know there lies within, infinite cosmos.
Eric Turner
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