An Apricot upon that spot
streched out towards the sky,
I watched from cot in garden grot
its spring sprigs spring so high.
As babe begot its shoots I'd spot,
and ever wonder why
from sweet seed pot to sunny spot
transplanted was nearby.
As tiny tot I soon could trot,
and try to knot my tie.
and tie a knot – for this could not
my searching spirit try.
Then up I shot a dread despot,
though not yet four foot high;
and the upshot ? the tree had got
taller by far than eye.
I ne’er forgot when it was hot
to rinse its roots so dry,
its crop I’d pot as cooked compot,
each quintal quantify.
I dream a lot on Apricot
as dread Death’s dot draws nigh:
ere Charon’s cot to Hades hot
Acheron’s swamps sweeps by.
For ‘tis Man’s lot with boring bot
in septic slumber lie;
fated to frot with worm, maggot,
to rot where false friends lie.
Forget me not, please pitch my plot, -
this last wish gratify -
let Apricot my last cold cot
and headstone signify....
Spring
http://www.flickr.com/photos/joka2000/2228694634/
Summer
http://www.flickr.com/photos/55884791@N00/2408745044/
Autumn
http://www.flickr.com/photos/petitechose/167630046/
Winter
http://www.flickr.com/photos/ln_artography/2426053874/
Gold trophy winner
Adding your comment:
Beautiful, deep, significant & pure, dear Scribe. N'er fear, my Friend...you could never be forgot. As long as any Poet breathes, you shall remain...& ever beyond these mortal frames of Man. Wonderful penning, Sweetie. Great pictures & background, too. They make me long for the taste of my mother's apricot jam...
