apple tree blossom             

When I was a child, I was sent away for a year for my health.  Everything there was the exact opposite to my home.  No bright colours as at home and, of course, with so many children to care for, instead of love, there was an impartial interest and care.  There are many times we would not go back to and this was one of them.

          LET IT BE

Last night,
The apple tree turned white,
Its wide skirts trembling
As if some fabulous ballerina
Was dancing over the grass.

For a moment,
I was taken back
To my childhood.
Looking at an apple tree
Through a window,
Where my finger nail
Scraped long strands of frost.

Then I was a long way from home.
A long way from love and colour,
Close to dark uniforms,
To squares of aprons
Crackling in snowy starchiness.
White caps like fearful torches
Breaking the dusky violet night,
Making me weep for home.

                                     Now making me glad that none of us
                                     Can inhabit the past.

                             © Gwen Grant



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