A Poem for Analemma

Let me take you to a place in the Mosier Hills

It’s a bend on State Road

Pass through a curtain of Poplar trees

Gnarled cherries reach out to their grapevine cousins

The young, tangled plants stare strongly back

They are trying to impress their older relatives

The fruits born are different and the same

Sweet, tart, red, tender

Natural nods to farmers of the past

All are used, nothing forgotten

Let me take you to a place in the Mosier Hills

I’m quite certain you’ll be greeted

By cows and calves,

Sunlight and grass

All are used, nothing forgotten

A convergence of pastoral expression.

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