Author Information
Apple Orchards During Summer
I don't pick friends like apples in the backyard;
I'd like to think there even was an orchard.
I don't hop in on love like it's the sunrise;
It can blind---how many tearful eyes!
Just how dreary are we in the morning,
Whereupon there is just void we must be seeing?
Will a sun--ever-shining and lovely--
Just be a prelude to the moon's uncertainty?
