My Bramley Apple Tree

My Bramley Apple Tree

Twenty seven years it stood
Tap root anchored into Cheshire soil.
All winter the black boughs raked
The bruised and battered skies.
Each Maytime it lifted its pink
Petal cap to welcome Spring.
June and the mossy bole cushioned my head
As among its whispering leaves
Bees hummed and greenfinches fed.
The crisp green harvest yielded
Apple charlottes and apple pies,
Half my lifetime ringed around its trunk.

Untill April this year. Freezing rain
And a whipping wind burdened
Each branch with leaden ice.
From crown to bole it split,
A white wound, raucous as a cry.
Later I felled the the splintered corpse,
Now the sweet scent of apple wood smoke
Will fuel my memories and warm my winter days.