The Apple Round

Upon her limbs, the apples grow
The tree, she rules them all
The fruit bulge wide and swell her pride
Not one will she let fall

She knows against the ground they'd split
She knows they would turn brown
She knows the worms would eat them up
And so she lets none down

The worms they beckon from her shade
Beneath the searing sun
"My lady tree, why can't you see
Your youth will be undone?"

She pays no mind, "There is still time"
They whisper from her roots
"To halt the wither and the rot,
You must lay down your fruits"

Oh, mash them in the cider house
And set the juice to rot
For when it smells like apple wine
We'll sell it by the lot

We'll roll the barrels round the town
And they will call us wise
For learning to keep bellies warm
Beneath cold winter skies

"Forget the sun", the worms explain
"The earth you must renew
Just yield your vintage to the soil
To see your years undo"

The tree held fast, the sun beat down
Her leaves began to dry
A wither crept upon her fruit
Beneath the blazing sky

Her leaves rasped grief, her cracking bark
Announced her sap's retreat
Her vanity obliged her pride
To give the worms their feast

Her fruit fell down, it split and brown'd
The worms achieved their aim
Her limbs grew dead, her leaves turned red
And fell to hide her shame

Oh, mash them in the cider house
And set the juice to rot
For when it smells like apple wine
We'll sell it by the lot

We'll roll the barrels round the town
And they will call us rich
For saving all their hard earned coin
While they sleep in a ditch

The earth drank down the apple juice
And knew for good or ill
That every season fades in turn
That time cannot stand still

Through bitter cold she stood outcast
And mourned what she had lost
No hopes to claim what time will maim
Bent limbs turned white with frost

But after winter comes the thaw
And after thaw comes spring
The worms told only half a lie
Of what her fruit would bring

Oh, mash them in the cider house
And set the juice to rot
For when it smells like apple wine
We'll sell it by the lot

We'll roll the barrels round the town
And they will call us hale
To drink the mighty apple tree
While they grow soft on ale

Her leaves returned, as did her seed
Bright daughters round her sprung
And by this way, and this alone
Forever stayed she young

The bees sip from the apple blooms
That stray the thoughts of man
Stealing nectar to make new fruit
In the garden again