Monday, 24 December 2012


If she had stood
Like a blasted tree
By the shore of the shivering sea

How had she become
Like an apple tree
Whose bows are bent with summer fruit?

She had learnt
To swerve no more beneath the knife;

To welcome One Wiser as
He chose to lop
Branch after branch.

More fruit bodied
In its own ripe season.

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