When this apple tree is axed and carted to the yard
its old leaves stripped, its twisted branches cut and carved;
when birds and errant squirrels are summarily dismissed,
and mistletoe is torn and puckered lips unkissed;
somewhere beyond the function of its analytic brain
beneath the anxious beating of its heart, the alignment of its grain
we will get down to the nub, that grande dam the tree would be,
except artful years bore sweetest fruit contorting destiny.
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J Matthew Waters said,
January 10, 2013 at 2:48 am
wonderfully and rhythmically alive – i love this
Julia Dean-Richards said,
January 10, 2013 at 12:42 pm
Thank you John – Happy New Year!
nobodysreadingme said,
January 10, 2013 at 1:57 pm
Good to see you back. And in fine form
Julia Dean-Richards said,
January 10, 2013 at 4:01 pm
Trying hard to make time. Please save me a place in the library.