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Wednesday 30 May 2018

Old Lady


Old Lady

Under shady branches
Gnarled and knuckled
Scabbed and twisting
Lie windfalls softly cradled
Grass-cushioned in the dew
Bruised and slowly browning
In the morning-hazy sunshine
Sweet juices fermenting
Into heady cider
Intoxicating the lazy wasps
And the bickering blackbirds
Which feed upon the crop
Sipping at this late abundant nectar

Hobbled, she leans slightly to one side
Her trunk bent beneath the weight
Of aged limbs
Of twigs and leaves and fruits
Weathered, wind-buffeted
Her bark rough and leathery
Skin rotted and cankered
Her shape crooked and disfigured
Diseased, hard and broken
By the passing seasons

Yet still the sap rises within her
Re-awakened every Spring
To produce abundant blossom
Pulling in the pollinators
To create a canopy-full
Fertile with hard and heavy fruits
Of such acid sharpness

Silhouetted in her twilight years
Still fiercely rooted
She stands defiantly alone
Never part of any orchard
Crabbed in her corner of the garden
But still verdant, fruitful, useful

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2018

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