Mother of the Spring, Her branches’ cradle slipping, Buds, yawning open, welcome by an aging man. He greets fondly with memories of when her bows were arms that held him as a younger man. Together, they would marvel at the of Springtime.
Now he stands beneath the apple blossoms every year where they used to go walking. And he tells Her about the summer and the The winter in his heart, And their Apple blossoms.
In summer they would dream Of being three and smile, imagining how round, the apples on the ground.
That fall, they loved and waited.
But winter came too soon before their seed could bloom. She wilted from the chill. And all cold and still.
Now he stands beneath the apple blossoms every year where they use to go walking. And he tells Her about the summer and the autumn, The winter in his heart, And their Apple blossoms.
As opened the after, as she fell He prayed heaven would be waiting to meet her. He kisses her cold goodbye, But he couldn’t surrender the hope of staying solace So in her fallen hands he placed a seed from their favorite tree and he laid her to rest ‘neath the blanket of white ‘til they’d meet again in the
Now he stands beneath the apple blossoms, Every year where they used to go walking. Walking:
And from above she’s always watching But her body ‘neath the apple blossoms. Apple blossoms. Blossom. Blossom. Blossom.
Mother of the Spring The slipping bud she cradles, Slowly, [they] unopen. “Welcome, by aging man,” He greets them fondly. Fondly---- beneath the apple blossoms.