sweet is the just bit

when the fruit of consequence

hangs heavy on the vine,

pluck up your pluck, dear -

 & shine to polish rubbed against your cotton.

for always sweet is the just bit,

& first-incisor tongues to molar
(as is natch.

 heretofore an irish peach,
a palm of red delicious - 

but never yet a ripened lubsk queen of porcelain skin,
harvested
& sequined on the chin.