Apple-pie Order
Irish Noble
Our orchard trees want
pruning
To realize the fullness of their
flowers
And the blood redness of their
fruit.
Out beyond the cultivated
fields,
The wild apple has only its
wildness
And the sweet riddles of its
worms.
Our orchard trees wear the
burden
Of their beauty and provide
in bushels
The body of Adam and of
Christ.
The wild apple, five gnarled
fruit
High up, impossibly
delicious,
Has its wildness only, but
has its all.
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