Plaint Of The Apple Tree

The Autumn winds have shorn my dress

     And left me bare and cold;

The farmer lads have robbed of me

     My apples red and gold.

I stand alone, my beauty gone,

     A knarled old pippin tree;

My days of usefulness are o’er,

     And no one cares for me.

All summer long I threw a shade

     Upon the grass below

And children came and played their games,

     All thro’ the Monday glow.

And lovers rested ‘neath my arms

     When twilight stole apace,

And praised in soft and flowing words

     My usefulness and grace.

And song birds darted in and out,

     Or stopped to trill a song;

And life was one grand rondelay

     All through the summer long.

But all has changed, and angry winds

     Sweep through my barren arms;

And winter, King of hill and dale,

     Has stripped me of my charms.

I’m but a knarled old apple tree,

     Unsightly to behold;

A clinging garb of ice and snow

     My limbs will soon enfold.

But in my heart a warmth is mine

     To live the winter through,

And in the spring I’ll burst again

     In glories bright and new.

c. Oct. 1, 1901