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.
© 2016 cherryk
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