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| An old Spitzenburg, Jefferson's favorite, survives at the treeline. |
Sole survivor of a hundred-year-old orchard
blooming with a flourish at the woodland's edge
gives me daily pleasure and a faith in work
for i have watched it make its art for 40 years,
Damaged by late frosts and early snows
hollow at its core and home for mice
yet always does its job without reward—
hear the droning of its muses in its blooms.
At fall's first freeze the deer will come at dusk
to stand in the briars and eat the apples on the ground,
it takes only a few for it all to make sense;
what makes us what we are is what we do.
