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