A Bit of Rain, Walking on Chalk

They come with the rain, loved under the middle weighted beech, below the eye of the cathederal;the perfect orchard. The tree's hold hands like girls with twenty year's. Today the fruit arrived. Valentino , pointed them both, maybe its his height , he is very good. My season is soon to start, the digging months, other's collect the surface friut, and with the dogs untill march we dig into the moon like surface and pull these mighty men and women from below ground and then deliver with every haste to London town. This season maybe I have found my kitchen and as the season ends I sing my song , if not before and they pay me for my worth x