Poetry of a Conlanger

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Orchard (11/20/06)

The sun rises, putting warmth into my blood.
Now I shiver with hope and anticipation—
But no guarantees yet!

Spend a dollar of time
To get into his majesty’s orchard.
His Majesty,
—one who truly deserves the title—
The stranger I’d hoped to meet.
I can see how much better the trees are, the apples,
How completely happy I would be
To be here all the time.

If I took just one,
Would it be missed?
Just one taste, one mouthful
Of bliss, rich and overwhelming?

I would be addicted, I know—
And I snatch my hand back.

Oh, perfection, perfection,
You’re not for me.


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