More of Poetry

Disregard

Is the fragrance of apple branches smoking

in the woodstove what I will recall

of the Red Delicious I cut down, embarrassed

that I couldn't persuade its appendages to render natural product?

An excess of disregard will do that, skew the sap's

section, darken leaves, dry the bark and heart.

I ought to have trimmed the dead appendages early

also, observed each branch with a goshawk's eye,

fixing with restorative pitch, offering water,

manure and mulch, however I was excessively charmed

by pear saplings, blossoms and the field,

excessively young, making it impossible to trust that passing's inescapable

for any living being disliked, untended.

What remains is this armload of applewood

presently nourishing the stove's seethe. Quality

ages a last time in the firebox, a red

gather headed, by day break, to ashes.

Two many years of shade and blooms - tarts

what's more, juice, honey bees astonished by the dust,

save style in ice - however what goes is gone.

Smoke is all, through this lesson in winter

lament, I've been given to recall.

Smoke, and Red Delicious apples redder

than a passing cardinal's peak or ashes.

THE PROMISES I MADE TO PEOPLR COMMENT ON MY PAGE ....
...IN MY FORMAL POST TO SHOW
SOME part of lagos

more to come in my next post