Ode To An Apple Tree
A sentinel,alone, in a field of prickly ash and hay
A far cry from the lush green tree back in the day
Your gnarly branches, weathered, rey and dead
The last of your kind planted on this old homestead.
Once heavy with ripe red fruit, now just past your prime
Twisted and withered, it is now just a matter of time
Your branches, once slender and strong, but no more
Now shrunken and lifeless, your fate left to ponder.
Branches once spread wide to accept the day's sun
a place for all the children to climb and have fun
You still stand,but for how long, no one can tell
One day you will be hewed and bid a farewell
The type of apples you bore, I could never discern
It matters not, you logs, just wood, mine to burn
Never stately, like an elm or as mighty as an oak
My cabin, one day, will be filled with your smoke.
Share This Poem