In the garden an
ancient and hollowed apple tree
Is bowed by an
autumn bounty.
Nearby, sits an
old man -
maybe for the
last time.
The wind’s sharp
edge,
And autumn
sunshine,
Have polished
the apples; temptation red.
Kali arrives
with tea and a blanket
The old man
tries to thank her.
But has no words.
She smiles,
awakening sweetly treasured souvenirs.
A gust stirs the
boughs... more apples fall.
Kali wheels the
old man indoors,
Thinking him
asleep.
In the night,
the impatient wind roars,
Felling the
tree.
And a hearse, silently
leaves the home,
Leaving crushed
apples in its tracks.
