Friday, January 22, 2016
Bending her limbs towards the ground
The old tree sighed.
Only two remained and she
Was badly misshapen.
A cold wind
Had dismember the other branches
Gophers gnawed at the gnarled old roots
She had managed one last small harvest
Can I try again?
One more year?
Do I have the strength?
Sixty seven years
My tree and I
But we had the sweetest apples.