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.