Fruitless Season

Fruit sweet and ripe, out for the picking:
not a single branch on the tree hangs bare--
but idle hands turn up empty,
nothing gathered to savor or share.

Unused baskets collecting cobwebs,
sit forgotten in the dusty shed;
the hammock strung in the shade of the tree
rocks gently in the breeze beneath my head.

I wake to the sickening smell of rot,
my precious fruit scattered on the ground--
I shoo the swarming bugs from their feasting,
but not one untouched piece can be found.

My stomach turns, consumed with regret
as I desperately search the decaying remains;
time gone to waste, no harvest this year,
so I go back to bed with my hunger pains.

Soon the tree begins to flower once more--
will this season be as fruitful as before?