The apples fly like petals in a gale.
The trees rock and I fear the trunks may break.
The weather in these months has been debauched.
I muse here on what’s Nature and what’s Fate.
An apple tree can live for many years.
Each summer brings the white complicit bloom.
Yet sometimes comes a hurricane that tears
And ends this green and gracious life too soon.
We,like trees, are wantonly destroyed.
Winds sweep in from strange and foreign seas.
The shock may bring us down whilst we still fruit.
Yet mourners one day all of us shall be.
Whilst we live, let’s open hard, closed hearts.
So in anger or in hate we shall not part
Musing about apples
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