Among the wretched apple trees,
round remorseless razored rocks,
in a blossom of apologies.
A time before we wanted these,
not now, no need for clocks.
Among the wretched apple trees
no thought of self just you to please
my memory merely mocks -
in a blossom of apologies.
Remember moments held in frieze
a time retained by locks?
Among the wretched apple trees
with bloodied hands and muddied knees
in flagrantly foolish flocks.
With a blossom of apologies
words on page torment and tease
with horror, fear and shocks.
Among the wretched apple trees -
in their blossom of apologies.
