There's a place on the way
where the sky opens up and the sun shines
on a battered Ford pickup

Where the stones queue in lines
Between forlorned but charming fruits unpicked
In the Last Orchard

When already past the old lake
And houses in which old loves overheard
You'll know you're close now

When the great pines step back from the road
you'll hear the wind raise its sound--
--or perhaps that's me,

breathing in the scent of apples, round
the next corner lies my tree
I mean, it must be high or low

the Last Orchard calls out, guides me,
and all my aspirations in tow,

I follow its voice once more
and once more I find myself home.