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.
wonderfully and rhythmically alive – i love this
Thank you John – Happy New Year!
Good to see you back. And in fine form
Trying hard to make time. Please save me a place in the library.