That Bring to Knees in Wash of Love Divine – Sonnet Sixty-Two

In midst of orchard salvos’ ardent schemes,
Of apples boiled in peaches’ nectars flood,  
That mind the tart of florid apples’ cream  
With peaches’ sweet and welling amber blood.  
 
How swift and hard, the apples find their mark,  
How swifter still the peaches’ raise their heat.  
As apples drive, in wave on wave embark,  
Its peaches’ burst, that brings apples’ defeat.  
 
For who could long resist the wash of juice  
That splitting peaches send from molten flesh,  
Their hard advances soon advance reduce  
To apples’ send of lesser wash’ possess.  
 
But heavenly their flavors now combined,  
That bring to knees in wash of love divine.