Yes I’m guilty
Of forcing your
Roundness into the
Square hole of
Me guilty of
Concocting a dream
Of us and
Happily ever after
When the truth
Of you withered
On the vine
Like ignored and
Passed over fruit
Left to rot
In reality’s sun
Back to planting
I will tend
To my orchard
The next time
Around bringing home
Next years harvest
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 