Читать книгу Kindest Regards - Ted Kooser - Страница 18

In an Old Apple Orchard

The wind’s an old man

to this orchard; these trees

have been feeling

the soft tug of his gloves

for a hundred years.

Now it’s April again,

and again that old fool

thinks he’s young.

He’s combed the dead leaves

out of his beard; he’s put on

perfume. He’s gone off

late in the day

toward the town, and come back

slow in the morning,

reeling with bees.

As late as noon, if you look

in the long grass,

you can see him

still rolling about in his sleep.