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The Old Tree
Oh can I tempt you, sir, to taste my apples,
golden delicious, succulently sweet,
aroma which could rival gorgeous flowers;
just in case now, I will drop one at your feet.

For years I've stood here, through the roughest weather,
contemplating how I could excel
delivering the sweetest crunchy apples;
now I think I have succeeded very well.

Last winter, late, some young lads pulled a branch off
to make themselves a shelter from the cold;
when spring time came, the farmer was considering
chopping me down because I am so old.

But he spied a twig of delicate white blossoms,
braving the late snow on my upper bough.
he shook his head and walked away, relenting,
it's the fruit of those blooms which I offer now.

Enjoy this apple, best crop I have yielded
and probably the last I'll ever grow.
Perhaps you'll take my wood as you're a carver
for a good strong sleigh to take you through the snow.

By cherryk

© 2017 cherryk (All rights reserved)


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This Poem is part of a Challenge: - Word Painting with iverhyck (Konstantin) read page for rules and info (challenge has been closed)

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