Sunday, May 16, 2010

Your Sunday Poem

This delightful poem is by one of my favorite poets, Ted Kooser, from his book “Flying at Night; Poems 1965, 1985” Support your favorite poet, order one of his or her books today and enjoy.

In an Old Apple Orchard

The wind’s an old man
to this orchard; these trees
have been feeling
the soft tug of his gloves
for a hundred years.
Now it’s April again,
and again that old fool
thinks he’s young.
He’s combed the dead leaves
out of his beard; he’s put on
perfume. He’s gone off
late in the day
toward the town, and come back
slow in the morning,
reeling with bees.
As late as noon, if you look
in the long grass,
you can see him
still rolling about in his sleep.

1 comment:

Alon Perlman said...

That night; in that same Old Apple Orchard
The rain’s a far traveler
as he enters the orchard; His fingers
streak the Applewood bark.
One mark for the water,
that turned into wine,
one for a glacier sublimed.
He works back and forth as
he seeks old man wind, then he finds him.
Together they tassel,
and struggle, then part.
Branches bearing glimmering eyes, witness;
exhausted he sinks to the ground.
His knees mark the sod as dark tears.
He crawls, stretches out.
His hands plow the dark earth;
there he graves for the night.
Tomorrow; ghost white root fingers will wake him and send him to travel again.