THE ANNUAL APPLE AVALANCHE

                                                 LXXXI

All through the Spring and Summer
We tend our apple tree
We feed and fertilise it
And keep the ground weed-free.

But now that Summer's over
And Autumn days have come
We have apples by the hundred
Apples by the ton.

We've boxes full of apples
In neat and tidy rows,
And every time I turn my back
The apple mountain grows.

Apples stewed and crumbled
Home made apple pie,
I don't think I can use them all
No matter how I try.

Apples pulped and frozen
Gallons of home-made wine.
We are not short of apples
But I am short of time.

Apples are pressed on friends who call,
What we need is a buyer,
But has the apple mountain shrunk?
No, it's grown even higher.

Stewed apples with custard,
Stewed apples with cream,
If I eat one more apple
I'm sure I'll turn pale green.

To B.C.
Remembering your bumper harvest,
Oct.1980

AN ENGLISH AUTUMN

                                                       LXXX

When winter's on the way,
Nature has a final fling
To finish her bronze and gold pigments
And clear her palette for Spring.

America's fall picture
Is too gaudy - to bright.
England's Autumn tapestry
Is a restrained, artistic delight.

A fluffy clematis shawl
On the hedgerow is spread;
The leaves are at their very best
Just before they're shed.

The elegance of a silver birch -
The beauty of a bronze beech -
The Autumn countryside refreshes
The parts no other time can reach.


December 1988