Sadly - amidst weeds, in her solitude
her dead limbs rise in a plaintive plea;
She's bowed and bare - slowly dying there.
She's my daughter's "old apple tree".

She stands frail and weak in a barren field -
a stark silhouette against greenery.
Though dark and brown in her withered crown
she's STILL my daughter's old, apple tree.

The tree was already old twenty year ago,
when my daughter was young and free.
When her spirits were low (parents seldom know),
she found comfort by that old tree.

I learned of her tree during her frequent "calls" -
She's "Out West" with her own family.
She would sadly yearn, with increasing concern,
for her beloved old apple tree.

So, I send photos of her robins in Springtime -
of fleeting sparrows flying though her with glee!
Though death is upon her, and branches fall from her,
she's STILL my daughter's old apple tree!

I often stop by, and foolishly try
to convey my daughter's deep sympathy.
In her dying despair, I HOPE that tree is aware,
she STILL loved by my daughter . . . and me.

(( Some may question me about the "gender" of the tree;
I KNEW that only "feminine" would suit her!
A "male" fruit-bearing tree is an incongruity -
and, too, the cold, sterility of "neuter"!!}}

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