The Orchard (Re-Recorded)

Your happy fruits bore seeds of sorrow And planted with regret An orchard waiting on the morrow More fruit to beget A year I spent in tending That sour little crop And though my back was bending It sweetened not a drop Passing through the avenues Of the dearly-new deceased A draught brewed in sickness I led you thence come springtime The way was coarse and crooked The salty fruit you found sublime And knew your heart be wicked I see you waiting at the threshold Your movement is but slight Making summons with your blindfold Blot the cry of light Passing through the avenues Of the dearly-new deceased A draught brewed in sickness