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For No One

  • Joanne Benedetto
  • Jan 21
  • 1 min read

Updated: Jan 22

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Apple trees of a forgotten orchard,

Bear for no one, nine barrels worth of fruit,

Years without children playing in this yard,

No net to gather, no rifle to shoot,

 

Where armies of birds, perch from end to end,

In combat as they peck each other’s eyes,

On heavy branches where laden boughs bend.

Only the meanest ones collect a prize,

 

High above rotting apples on the ground,

Bruised by the fall, blemished, about to burst,

Where worms make a feast of this mealy mound,

If rabid rodents do not get there first.

 
 
 

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