Forgotten Ground Regained
At the Place of the Hoary Apple Tree
Originally published in Withowinde 115, p.17, Autumn, 1998
Grown old and grey ‧ my ground have stoodgnarled and twisted; tormented limbs,darkened by drear ‧ drizzle of October.My leaves lay dead ‧ like shreds of youth.I grew greenly, a growing saplingWhen England won ‧ was homeland new.Now I have lived ‧ long past the spanOf my kindred, a king in age.Apple yellow ‧ was my young fruit,But like England, bereft of power,I bear no fruit, a fallen king.The woeful wolf ‧ wails sadlyHowling horror ‧ on heroes’ feasts.The black raven ‧ from bones tears flesh.England’s fallen ‧ fell beasts devourThe warriors who ‧ warded my land.Night like a prayer ‧ nightmare covers,Doom of the men ‧ whom death has spared,Heirs to the land ‧ their long-fathers won,pursued by fiends ‧ pass from my ken.
Copyright © Brian Wright 1998
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