If Still Your Orchards Bear (The Apple Tree)
The apple tree grew tall and thin,
The apples small and sour,
Yet full of leaves the chipping bark
Came late to meet the hour --
Ever nearer to its fate;
Apples unfit to reach a plate.
Its only nourishment above:
A clear loft moon devoid of love.
Should the tender leave the trees,
The orchard only filled with bees
In blossoms full open to pollinate
Would not they were so free.
A tree departs from the full and sweet,
Remembers red around its feet --
Does not look back in vain,
But simply ignores the rain.