Apple and Eagle: A Folk Poem

Oh you are the apple
that fell near the tree
and I am the eagle
that flew to the sea
and this is my orchard
that grows near the shore
and here are your seedlings,
the children I bore.

I planted you here, love
the fairest of fruits
the rain here is warm, love
so let down your roots
the wind here is soft, love
the fragrance is rare
and I let them all stretch, love
the children I bear.

With spare cultivation
my children grow wild
but somebody pruned you
when you were her child
forget the sour apple
you moved through my air
I made you like one
of the children I bear.

The details are never as pretty as might be
Out on the prairie the nightmares are stalking
Out on the ocean are seagulls far drifting
Steep in my sky there are vultures out hawking
At evening I brought you, stooping and lifting
Now deep in your branches you nestle me nightly
And though I’m the sort that will always want more, love,
We each are the first child the other one bore, love.

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