The fruit takes from the sun,
the skin swells thin green,
swells to red,
swells to ripeness,
until the time for giving,
when the wind thuds and seeds the earth;
and the rich brown soil receives the flight down.
and to walk at that moment in the orchard again,
when the children are still small;
and to see in the sunlight
how the blossoms are falling.
poem by Joy Kogawa
Cypress makes rehearsal tracks for choirs – here is a demo