Emily Isaacson

"Discover poetry through the eyes of Emily . . ."

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Ode to the Apple Blossom

by Emily Isaacson    


Pale frosted glass decree

was both innocuous and wise;

and twig-like floral mantle

hung down, decorous,

to Victorian ground.


The apple blossoms sprinkled

pouring cream with applesauce

and homespun airy cotton quilting,

deftly stitched,

in moonlit minuet.


I saw the tree like a gallows,

its arms rising into the sky,

its trunk gnarled with years

and it breathed of lower life

where dreams were trod.


Where apples would usually fall,

where whitened crook

led sheep to drink

on pastures clean and high in dew,

the shepherdess rested.


A multitude of blooms,

effulgent and with pink power,

their piercing music

and feathered grail

tells of each one.


Illumined in laser-like sincerity,

the light will dance

from moon, to ray, to ground,

through snowy branches twined

with night.