Kheturus’ Orchards

by Siddiq Islam

Each Sunday, in the heat of August,
Baba lets me off the farm,
So up the hill I disappear.
The parching sunbeams keep me calm
And make the town below look gorgeous.

We meet outside Kheturus’ orchards,
Climb the wall and ramble through.
Everything’s so real, so clear,
On August Sundays, there with you.
We lock our arms and wander forwards.

We never pick Kheturus’ apples,
Only eat them off the ground.
And look at this, my sweetheart, here!
A heart-shaped apple I have found!
You never did look more bedazzled.

Soon, we’ll have to climb back over.
You’ll cry again that we must leave,
But there’s next Sunday, and next year.
I’ll let you wet my cotton sleeve
And mumble bye into my shoulder.

The Poor Print

Established in 2013, The Poor Print is the student-run newspaper of Oriel College, Oxford. Written by members of the JCR, MCR, SCR and staff, new issues are published fortnightly during term. Our current Executive Editors are Siddiq Islam and Jerric Chong.

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