Orchard by H. D.

Orchard

I saw the first pear         

as it fell—

the honey-seeking, golden-banded,      

the yellow swarm          

was not more fleet than I,                

(spare us from loveliness)          

and I fell prostrate         

crying: 

you have flayed us        

with your blossoms,              

spare us the beauty       

of fruit-trees.       

The honey-seeking       

paused not,       

the air thundered their song,            

and I alone was prostrate.          

O rough-hewn   

god of the orchard,       

I bring you an offering—           

do you, alone unbeautiful,              

son of the god, 

spare us from loveliness:            

these fallen hazel-nuts,             

stripped late of their green sheaths,      

grapes, red-purple,               

their berries       

dripping with wine,       

pomegranates already broken, 

and shrunken figs          

and quinces untouched,                  

I bring you as offering.