My mother loved the summer
But not for the weather
She loved the mid-season plums
June, July, August sweet ones

My father kept them plenty
Always stocked in our pantry
Some ripe and some well past peak
Till she was too sick to eat

Still at my childhood home
The only home that I've known
I spent her last few weeks there
Watching her fade and wither

I know what I should have done
I should have buried those plums
Somewhere they wouldn't be found
Let them turn pits in the ground

So he wouldn't have to watch them wilt too
Cause my mother died in mid-June
And I knew, oh I knew
He couldn't look at the fruit
No, he would just let them prune
No, he would just let them prune
My mother died in mid-June
And I knew, oh I knew
That day my father died too
That day my father died too