Apple Tree

May 18, 2012
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I curse love not to find me;
A fertile fruit-tree fair.

Branches bent beneath fruit,
Lost in deep despair.

For my fruit remains untouched,
My bounty- to the ground.

Where it lay to rot beneath the sun,
Never to be found.

A hen no eggs to’ve lain,
A curse to farmer be.

So I to the world;
Nothing to leave of me.

For never was I found
By c***, by man, by seller-of-fruit.

Merely burden. By men made barren.
A maid am I.

A maid to be, remaining forever.
Maid to death am I.

So curse I love, who in his cruelty
pass me by.

So curse I love,
Abandoned to death.

So curse I love,
A lonely tree.

So curse I love,
Forever more.

So curse I love,
A maid to be.

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