Where patterned snails slip slow

Cracks in the pavement 4

The apple tree,now bare of leaves.
Still bends in worship to the sun.
The sap flows down into the earth
Its fruiting year is done.

Where once a cat sat on the branch,
And children played below,
Now only sparrows hunt for crumbs,
and patterned snails slip slow.

The sun is setting on my left;
where is the slivered moon?
The day is deeper than a dream,
and over all too soon.

Oh,come,my lover,to my bed
And hold me in your arms.
I’ll rest against your fragile chest,
Whilst you enjoy old charms.

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About Kate Thwaite

I love writing , conversation, art, wild flowers, music and air.And books
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