Take this:

The autumn olive,

Last fruit of the year

After the apple, the wild grapes have flown

It swells red and speckled among silver leaves.

Roll its rough skin around your tongue,

Savor the mouthdrying tartness

But taste only a few

For it is so full of summer, this late fruit

that too many are poison.

Finally,

Sucked clean of its long months

send this tiny, hard seed

to begin another season