This poem is taken from Stand 211, 14(3) September - November 2016.

John Cassidy Six Poems
Apple Tree

The apple tree roars
and rocks in a squall
this late autumn night
and the last shrunk leaves
from the clashing branches
are flung and scattered
across acres.

But it’s too dramatic
for a grasp of real decline
disguising in excitement now
the crudeness of decay,
the slow inexorable loss
of all the patterned day by day
expected continuities.

The bare twigs that will scratch
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