The Apple Tree.( Completely Re-Written Poem).

The scent of Buddha in the morning mist.

Drops of Christ`s Blood spilt on tarmac.

When the traffic stops the dawn chorus has a say.

This Apple tree beside the Watford Way

Has lost most of its blossom;

Piles of wedding confetti has filled the gutter

Fading fast.

I walk up the hill on cracked paving slabs,

Carefully avoiding the worst of the pitfulls

In case I should trip and tumble.

The once neat semis on either side of the road

Stand cold and dank, occupied irredeemably by ghosts,

Place memories stained into wood and plaster

By domestic events long scrubbed from human memory.

This Apple tree is not dying, it is young and healthy,

Its branches spread wide to net the sunlight

Now breaking through clouds that hint of rain.

The perfect apple tastes of rain and sunlight.

The dawn chorus becomes vivid for a moment,

And I recall it is Good Friday morning, 

The sole reason I am climbing this derelict hill.

The fallen blossom retains a trace of red. 

Trevor John Karsavin Potter

7th. - 8th. - 15th. - 16th. April 2023.

May 16th. 2023.- Completely rewritten April 23rd. 2024.

Jesus Christ the Apple Tree.