The Orchard

Each spring is a voice that remembers the past, Where the blossoms shine in their glow, With a smile for the sleepy branches that cast, Their shadows like sweet, lingering snow.

The orchards hold close to the hearts of the trees, As they touch the earth with soft sighs; With the nectar of life amid rustling leaves, They greet the moon with their eyes.

For these delicate wonders will always remain, In the shimmer of petals so fine; As they dream through the moments, like sweetness in rain— To breathe their truth from the line.

• David Campbell