The rotting orchard

I saw an orchard once
With peaches scattered round.
No farmer came, and no-one to collect.
That harvest could be lying rotting yet.
Although the fruit was succulent and sweet,
And there is hunger in the world,
That hunger and the food won't meet.

So like an orchard all
Our talents come to fruit,
Till ripe for the collection, one by one they drop
Unnoticed to the ground to rot,
Unheard, unheeded and unseen.
The labour of the gathering is not worth
The effort, for the price is tight.
Though somewhere there is hunger for our art
That hunger and our art won't meet.

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