This Orchard Is Not Mine Poem by Taylor Seaton

'I heard your orchard burnt, '
Said the man in the back of the ends,
'You can have mine.'

'For what price, friend'?

'To whomever inquires
As to whose orchard this is,
Only tell them
'This orchard
Is not
Mine'.'

Thought it strange
Did the man whose life
Had been turned
To ash
But tantalized
Mesmerized
By promise
Of true renewal
Rebirth,
He agreed.

They shook hands and spoke
of
orchard's
Where.

The grass
Was a green vibrance
And the trees
Were endless
In rows countless.
Speaking in
Clear,
Warm,
Everythings
they were
That ocean blue
Summer noon
In Eden's new garden.

He plowed,
Turned,
Planted,
Gathered,
And sold
In the shear joy which was
That heaven on Earth.


Started soon to sell
To the stores
On the edge
Of town
Were wealth is certainly
Made
Or found.

Fall's late moon
Had found him wealthy
And the next's
Had found him rich.

Life was good.

Benevolent patron's
Soon began
To ask
Of whose
The orchard was.

'This orchard is not mine, '
He would recite daily
seeming hourly.

'The orchard is of course mine, '
He silently comforted himself
As they asked hourly
Seeming minutely.

Plagued
And empty,
He sat alone
Staring into
The furnace
Which was not his
Of a house
Which was not his
In an orchard
That was never his
Within a mind
Which was not
his.

Plagued and empty
With a match
And bottle of whiskey,
The orchard meant nothing
As he burnt it to the ground.