Old man sits in an apricot tree

He sees I and I sees he

Old man sweet as the fruit he's picking

Knows the rhythm of nature's ticking



Gives a smile of tooth and metal

Winks an eye like a falling petal

Face a furrowed field of life tracks

The years of the living knife



He I love, he I know

Seasons come, so fruitman go



Through the crowd I enter in

See the head of virgin skin

Frail the old man's hand I take

Peace be with you Sunday shake



Sweet old man he turns to me

Tries to tell me what's to be

He don't say no words at all

Tears from him like fruit do fall



He I love, he I know

See sons that come, so fruitman go