Gratitude wore a beautiful gown for me

She dressed as a perfect persimmon
ripening in the glazed bowl on my table,
translucent color and depth,
yellow, shading to orange to red.
All of them together, and in between.

She has always been like that,
without beauty she can’t be known.
To be seen is all she has ever asked.

She uses the same magic on
every beautiful thing in sight.

To my eye she seems especially
fond of Autumn and sunsets,
but, as they say, it is all in the
Eye of the Beholder.