poetry pause: the orchard:: mary oliver

 

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The Orchard

I have dreamed
of accomplishment.

I have fed

ambition.

I have traded

nights of sleep

for a length of work. 

Lo, and I have discovered

how soft bloom

turns to green fruit

which turns to sweet fruit.

Lo, and I have discovered

all wins blow cold

at last,

and the leaves,

so pretty, so many,

vanish

in the great, black

packet of time,

in the great, black

packet of ambition, 

and the ripeness

of the apple 

is its downfall. 

mary oliver