The best citrus
grows on the trees
that still grace
Marjorie’s old place
at Cross Creek.
In the evening
you can stand
on the bridge
and hear frogs
by the dozen.
Daytime, visit
the garden and see
chickens and mallards
among the tomatoes.
But to fill winter jars
with delectable orange,
grapefruit, and kumquat
delight, you must lock your
elbows, grasp the long poles,
and pull with all your might.
I like this “mallards
among the tomatoes.”
I don’t know if there’s a name for this kind of alliteration but I like the way the “m” sound repeats in these lines, sounding like a lip-smacking “mmm” and adding to the sensory feel of this poem.