A few yards from the old homestead foundation of
Partially buried cement chunks covered with sod;
An ancient cherry tree leans to the south,
Its northern half bare, the other half
Bearing century old promises.
Once orchard lifeblood of this farm
Its fruit picked for farmers’ market
An early dawn hour’s wagon ride to town;
Now breaking down, forgotten
Until this week of fruitful surrender.
Almost finished, but not quite,
Rooted deep for one more season;
Faithful cycle blooming forth
With budding life from gnarled knots
Yielding glorious from ancient branches.
Glistening amber globes with rosy sheen
Cling clustered on crooked lichened limbs
Gathered heaping in bowls of gold,
Ecstatic burst of savored perfection,
Fulfilling a promise of sweet abandon.