Orchard,
Branches burdened with apples,
Burlap bags lumpy with the
Fruit waiting to be trucked off to
The cider mill.
I see lines of proud trees bearing
Dignified old fashioned names I've
Long forgotten.
I see an apple war, my brothers
Playfully hurling the knobby fruit at
One another and then dodging for
Cover behind a tree.
It's strange that I always see the
Apple orchard, for anyone else
Driving past that spot simply
Sees an empty lot.