Two nights ago I had a dream I’d like to share with you.
I was a child again playing outside and exploring nature with two of my friends from primary school. As we were playing we found a children’s book and so we sat down together to read it. In it was written a single poem…
She looked upon the garden one last time.
The clock on the mantle said it was time.
With moistened eyes she drew the curtain,
and closed her eyes to life, uncertain.
Oh apple with your rosy, golden hue,
what sweet delight I’ve found in you.
I hold you in my hands so dear,
and as I remember, alas I tear.
At the memory of my mother’s voice, as she relayed your passing.
And the freshly plucked apple I held so dear,
but I knew that too was dying.
I held an apple the next year too,
in memory of you.
And marvelled at the apple tree,
that grew, and grew and grew.
For not only did it give apples again,
the next year,
and each thereafter,
but it grew taller too.
As if it knew that the woman who had planted the seed,
had not gone from us,
but had returned to the earth,
to begin her life anew.
I really have no idea why I dreamt about this poem, or why I felt compelled to write it down in the middle of the night. In my dream the book had beautiful illustrations that suited the story perfectly but I don’t have the skills to bring those to life. I can only write the poem. I hope you enjoy it.
Wishing you much love as always,