The dull, heat-wilted blades of grass
Between the orchard rows await resurrection
Thirsting, parched by the the day’s boiling sun
Their green-ness dulled and muted
In this dry time
Yet the trees grow emerald lush
Branches laden with swollen fruit
As they drink ancient water from the fount
Of several thousand feet of polyvinylchloride tubes
Laid beneath the ground and filled
From a four-inch straw’s wide mouth
Inserted into the earth, its hidden ages unknown
©2020 Lenny Wells
Thoughts From The Orchard 