Malus – a poem

Did Mara, in her bitter days,
Eat apples dipped in honey?
Did their sharp sweetness soothe
The acid sting of exile?
Our over-ripened year is falling now
From branch to patient earth,
Unwitnessed, unremarked upon, unknown.
Only the ancient wise ones of the worms,
Who write their scriptures in the soil,
Remember as they dream their eyeless dreams -
The serpent's promise and the garden's curse.
Still, apples are for scrumping, 
Biting, baking, cider-making,
And life is for the tasting
After all.

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