- Non-Erotic Poetry
- The Old Apple Tree
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Going back to the place I call home
The place I ran and played,
Going home to start again
I remember the happy days.
When life was easy and troubles were few
The future a place far from my view,
With braids in my hair and cuts on my knee and
The swing which hung from the old Apple tree.
The branch that I climbed and eventually fell
The heart that I carved saying J loves L,
The shade it provided where I had my first fumble
And the sweet smell of cinnamon from mum’s apple crumble.
The apple which rustled then fell on my head
The swear word I used that got me sent early to bed,
The tree house I wanted that never got built and
The picnics we had on the old patchwork quilt.
Those were the times when I knew no danger
Theses days my smile is becoming a stranger,
But when I look back through my memories
The warmest of all is that old apple tree
- COMMENTS
LeBrozover 18 years agoThere it is,
the simple solution we all like,
embodied by that old Apple Tree.....
Anonymousalmost 19 years agoWill you meet me under that tree? I could offer you more than an apple.
Your poetry never fails to move me, Jennifer. Keep on writing, please.
Anonymousalmost 19 years agoUnlike the greater poets who dislike rhyme. I dig it
like a shovel. It makes the work easy to remember and a
joy to read. This poem is good, but the rhythm is off
some what. Still, I liked the picture it gave me as a reader. Mine was a weeping willow. sand
Anonymousalmost 19 years agoI admire you for trying something new - a tricky format. Well done! Keep writing.
Tess
