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Passing an Orchard by Train

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Written by: Robert Bly | Biography
Grass high under apple trees.
The bark of the trees rough and sexual the grass growing heavy and uneven.
We cannot bear disaster like the rocks- swaying nakedly in open fields.
One slight bruise and we die! I know no one on this train.
A man comes walking down the aisle.
I want to tell him that I forgive him that I want him to forgive me.


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