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Poem: The Orchard 

Ripe fruit bows
earthward
as grape clusters would.
One perfect apple
beckons from
the branches, laden
like garlands for
the mantel.

My lover climbs toward it
finding lower limbs
to support him.

With amazement
I watch as he bites
into crisp sweetness,
his breath billowing
in the autumn air.

How simply he takes
this life. Moment
by moment, for
his enjoyment
alone.

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