The Apple tree

I came upon it;

a slender apple tree,

but it drooped a bit

upon its weakest side.

Taking a stick , a rope

and plenty of hope,

I tried tying it uptight,

but drooped it further down,

and my labour further up.

Swishing in the wind,

Beating its branches,

it swayed violently,

yet my love held it patiently.

But it was a broken tree,

flowering for a creature

so exotic, it filled me with dread,

for was it not my tree.

The blossoms had withered,

and so had hope,

was I fooling myself

for the tree was never mine

nor were the pink blossoms.

Thus I a poor gardener

would walk on

to find another tree to hold on.

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