Autumn Love Poem by Mark Heathcote

Wild orchard, I've tasted your soft sinews.
It's sweeter than I ever remembered.
I've held you root fast in my autumn, too.
My heart felt somewhat dismembered.

But still ubiquitous on that grassy knoll
where mistletoe kisses continually stow.
High on the bough, relinquishing a burnished soul
Evergreen, these fruits may mean more than any John Doe.

Here, where spring is a coinage tossed up
sparkling into a wishing well's watery grasp;
do I bite the apple and behold the loving cup
Discover a wish devoid of the poison asp.

Such harvests we've seasoned only to forget.
Kiss Me Autumn plays another string quartet.