The peaches are off their trees,
On the ground and freezing.
Death consumed by life,
To produce again.
It's almost like they live on,
In the little cells of those who eat.

It's almost like that peach is still whole,
Even though it's been eaten and destroyed.
It was once beautiful, and always will be,
And it may even become a tree.
     Again.

If anything survives this winter.