Autobiography of a Madman
Autobiography of a Madman
Orchard
Paper leaves on apple trees
All thoughts inside my head
That on the fingers of my branches
Rustle brown and dead.
There was a time when all was new
Sweet emerald instead
But now the golden and the green
Await the autumn tread.
Every leaf a unique one
Once jostled to be shed
Just like a winter snowflake
From out its cloud of lead.
Why did not an apple grow
An apple green or red
To hang beside the orange sun
Inside my orchard head?