The Old Apple Tree

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