Way back home to the village through the even woods
His cart lurching laden with fruits from his farm
Comes whistling the farm boy under the trees overarching.
Is it hardship to find fruits to overload one?
Strange fruits – dangling in bunches from strange trees overhead
He can’t drive past, stops under the branches – happy and with sigh
Farmers pass on carts, see him stand under the tree for the season
Looking up, waiting for each fruit to fall one after another
Catch and put life into his mouth – to live.
When the last one has fallen the season will have ended
Old and grey he will become to rest for another season.
November 20, 2008