Apple Orchards During Summer

I don't pick friends like apples in the backyard;

I'd like to think there even was an orchard.

I don't hop in on love like it's the sunrise;

It can blind---how many tearful eyes!

Just how dreary are we in the morning,

Whereupon there is just void we must be seeing?

Will a sun--ever-shining and lovely--

Just be a prelude to the moon's uncertainty?

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