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

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