.
.
A woman wanders through the night
her pale face drip with tears of fright
her dress in morning dew is soaked
and in her steady grip...
a rope
Blooming fully, the apple tree
standing as her butcher to be
from the limb to which its bound...
The rope goes to her neck around.
Despair has driven her this far
soon ended is her memoir
she climbs the apple tree to fall
but succeeds she?
Not at all.
Old is tree with trunk and limb
so her faith is much more grim
the branch breaks, her feet meet the earth
her face isn't covered in blood...
but dirt.
A woman wanders through the sun
knowing, her life isn't done
escaped her own verdict, so brute
hanging in the tree, no woman,
but fruit
She smiles and tastes the apple it bears
and waters the tree again with her tears
they fall no more in fear or grief
but in joy of living,
and of relief.
