1.

The boughs lay withered beyond the brow

The village hung in the hollow, unseen

As your hand that night, the moon

A reflection of that lapse, the copse

And bower hidden down the lane, now

Your flesh, the blush of a plum

Caught the sun as it slipped, the yard

In bloom as dusk hushed the orchard

And the search of darkness was almost

Upon us: it leaves an old man breathless

To feel all that again, even as a distant

Aftermath, the harvest already done.

The marrow simmers and shivers long past the time

When young blood thrills at the April wind.