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

The Oriel College Student Newspaper. Run by students, with contributions from the JCR, MCR, SCR, Staff. Current Executive Editors: Monim Wains and Martin Yip

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s