The apple tree,now bare of leaves,
Still bends in worship to the sun.
The sap flows down into the earth
Its fruiting year is done.
Where once a cat sat on the branch,
And children played below,
Now only sparrows hunt for crumbs,
and patterned snails slide slow.
The sun is setting to my left;
where is the slivered moon?
The day is deeper than a dream,
and over all too soon.
Oh,come,my lover,to my bed
And hold me in your arms.
I’ll rest against your fragile chest,
Whilst you enjoy old charm