Cycle

Cycle

The
Apple
Tree
Froze
Three
Winters
Ago,
And
Slowly
Died.
This
Spring,
No
Fragile
Blossoms
Came.
No
Bird
Ravaged
Fruit
Would
Fall,
To
Pock
The
Lawn
With
Rejects.
Life
Does
Not
Surrender,
And 
Through
The
Summer,
Brave
Apple
Shoots
Rose
Up
By
Dozens,
Searching
For 
What
Was 
Lost.

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