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Idly standing on the fields of our dawn
Awash in dew, and fed by the new sun
Is the orchard of fruit and nature’s awn
Illuminated by the springs spectrum

Where children play ‘til the sweet smell of dusk.
A generation’s renewed sense of hope,
Yet time marches on and leaves turn to rusk.
Their youthful dreams fall to an older scope.

The calloused hand reaches a calloused age
Where the fruit was sewn and has become ripe,
Juxtaposed among the sweet smell of sage.
Such matured sweat defines the tines of life.

Here too, life moves inevitably
As eyes glaze over like the snowy hinterland
Expanse the orchard surely comes to be
It delights the contemplative mind and

Touches the hoary beard of earth and man.
The year was good, from toil came fruition
The planet revolved on united plan
And things carried on, past God’s perdition.

Together in motion; in harmony
Underneath the same silent sky of blue,
The birds sing the morn a sweet eulogy
As the winter dies and life springs anew.


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The following comments are for "The Orchard"
by Aureoverinicus

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