I see everyday of my life spread
Before me; an orchard in bloom.
Each branch of tree, bush and leaf,
A memory for me to consume.
In summer, when the fruit is rich,
I tread the path, for fruit to pick,
Indulging in the springful life:
The ripen fruit bringing delight.
But with each bite that is left,
There is bitterness that in the next
Taste, it might just lose its edge,
Then soon the spoils may reach their end.
So the more I eat, the less enjoyed—
The more I walk, more worn the path.
Until the leaves finally fall
Into autumn’s strangling grasp.
I feel her touch,
Hands soft from love,
Like sliding through
To a place where we
Would meet again.
But these moments fade,
In solstice’s blaze,
Where the summers past
are lost to the vague.
Flowers wilt, their colours damp,
Trees broken on the orchard path.
What remains from winter’s wrath?
But the cold and hurt from a frozen land.
The sodden marsh engulfs.
The land itself falls
In; the somme-like pit pulls
Into its hefty haul.
But past the glint of glossy eyes,
Lies a world where seeds survive.
We fail to see past lives once lead,
The growth thickening within our heads:
The weeds unkempt, vines in droves,
The bushes tangled with roses, broke,
So concerned for orchards gone;
We never made another one.
‘Cause the trees will grow in due time.
The fruit will ripen with more life.
An Eden will grow to replace
An age, to show, that we can change.