Streams, Strawberries And Apple Trees

The drifter
Not driven by compulsion
But fear of community
Camps by the wayside
In an orchard that ripples with streams
Strawberries and apple trees.
He picks from the fruit,
Drinks from the water
Then lays his head down
Where the business of small life stinks.
And when he sleeps
Mosquitoes suck from his flesh,
Flies blow with his breath
And brown rabbits eat
His last morsel of bread.
Yet the drifter,
Wilted from establishment
Fellowships with nature
While he dreams of streams,
Strawberries
And apple trees.

©--Christina Cowling