THE OLD APPLE TREE

The old apple tree many stories must hold, Of children down the years whose secrets were told To the old tree whose gnarled branches held them in their play, Youngsters who spent hours on a warm, sunny day Telling each other stories, embellished at times, Which, now I’ve grown old, I include in my rhymes. My own childhood days were spent around the old tree So I know for a fact it is older than me, My nine children, too, played with all of their friends In the orchard which sits where the large garden ends, Their own offspring, too, have enjoyed the delights Which the old tree has offered with glee-filled apple fights. Now I’ve grown old yet the memories stay Of tree-houses and rope-swings, of children at play, My great-grandchildren, too, in due course, will look at and climb, Will make memories of their own in the passage of time, Of the old tree which is still strong, which is, of course, just as well For a new generation of children will have their own stories to tell.

L. M. Wadlow, Redditch, Worcs.