Not in that wasted garden Where bodies are drawn into grass That feeds no flocks, and into evergreens That bear no fruit - There where along the shaded walks Vain sighs are heard, And vainer dreams are dreamed Of close communion with departed souls - But here under the apple tree I loved and watched and pruned With gnarled hands In the long, long years; Here under the roots of this northern-spy To move in the chemic change and circle of life, Into the soil and into the flesh of the tree, And into the living epitaphs Of redder apples! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE CHILD by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE FAT LADY by HAYDEN CARRUTH ON THE SALE OF MY FARM by ROBERT FROST DEVASTATION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DOWN BY THE CARIB SEA: 4. THE LOTTERY GIRL by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE REWARD by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON UNCLE JIM'S BAPTIST REVIVAL HYMN by SIDNEY LANIER WAITER IN A CALIFORNIA VIETNAMESE RESTURANT by CLARENCE MAJOR |