Comfort me with apples
For I am sick of Love,
But feed me Sweet
With wild and bitter fruit from upland tree
That bore a savage harvest late and few,
For nothing else could ease this ache in me.
*
The orchard fruit for those who love in peace
Who loose the Earth about the rest
And feed with careful hand the heavy laden bough.
*
For me the deeper want,
The strongest need,
The fruit that grows on high lone hill
That needs no care
But in defiance clings
To Earth untended grows with Wind and Rain
And
Locks within it's core the taste of Spring.

*Eileen Cameron Henry