Vocational Visions

I sat in an orchard.
Secretly wanting a pear.
With hundreds of trees.
Only apples there.

I sang with the birds.
Relaxed in the shade.
Every morning's sun rise.
Every evening's sun fade.

With each bite of an apple.
Only wanting a pear.
Always plenty of food.
Somehow seeming unfair.

Too late for planting.
Too late for seeds.
My dealing with apples.
My dealing with deeds.

Not knowing how to get there.
Not knowing where to go.
I dreamed of an orchard.
Where only pears grow.

One day I stumbled.
One day I fell.
Others were laughing.
Stories I did tell.

Suddenly, it happened.
In an instant of time.
A little boy whispered.
"This pear is mine."

My eyes rose to meet his.
As I was still on the ground.
It is pears for which I am searching.
I see yours you have found.

With a tear in his eye.
With a sad, solemn, tone.
The child let our at whisper.
We were all alone.

Yes, a pear I do have.
Yes, a pear is my lot.
But, I would like an apple.
But, this pear an apple is not.

In that instant I rose.
Then I reached in my bag.
Boy, I have this apple.
Wrapped neat in this rag.

Take it and go.
Only one thing I ask.
Where do I find pears?
I am up to the task.

He smiled as he spoke.
With love and without fear.
Sir, you have found it.
Take this pear here.

When I woke from this dream.
And gave it some thought.
The child was me then.
Before I was bought.

Bought and sold for a day's wage.
Purchased with another's wealth.
Trading time for money.
With no concern for my health.

Perhaps just a dream.
Maybe only a wish.
But to be that child again.
Teaching men how to fish.
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