The Windfall
reimagining “Adieu to Judges and Juries” (c. 1790)
Will you say, love, that love is our orchard,
petals so fresh and so young?
Will you cry, love, that love is our windfall,
and the apple still sharp on your tongue?
Will you feel, love, that love has grown colder,
snow on the houses and farms?
Will you hold, love, our love through the winter,
as you wander so far from my arms?
Oh, if I were as free as the swallows,
swift to the south I would go.
But I must stay far north with the sparrows,
and they ruffle so cold in the snow.
See the breath that I breathe on the window,
waiting for you and the spring,
while the frost on the pane dims the daylight,
and the ice on my hand is my ring.
Does the sun warm you far in the south, love,
bright in the worlds where you’ve flown?
Do you whistle, a songbird in summer,
while your love is in winter alone?
In the hearth, there are embers to kindle,
old applewood from the stand.
In the heart, I remember you gentle,
all the tremble and touch of your hand.
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