They were still clinging in the snow:
Baubles on a twig Christmas tree,
Jack-o'-lanterns without faces,
Bright as street oranges of Seville.
You told me I should be prepared
For the 'kaki experience'. They would be
Super-sweet, jam-like, drip off the spoon,
But I couldn't countenance that gloopy
Texture and didn't understand the point
Of seeking them preciously among their leaves
Like griffins' eggs, except maybe to stop them
Splattering to slippy wadges underfoot.
A treat foregone through prejudice, you thought.
But the sight was otherworldly: so many
Suns dipping with a last golden flare
Into the dark rotation of the earth.