The Tree Of Poetry And Apples

chester maynes

In the middle of
the field stands
the tree of poetry
and apples.

His leaves are
hands that write
love and hate.

Sweet is the taste
of his fruit and
I am wanting more.

He drinks water
rain and his roots
cling to the earth.

There is an afternoon
when he plays with
the clouds and air.

There is an evening
when he rests himself
with the silver moon.

The world sees the
message of his heart
where pain is no more.


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