The apple trees, in pearly sighs
Are blooming 'neath the late may skies.
I know there's time this afternoon,
And storms are brewing in the gloom
So with a pen and greatest care
I'll gather all the blossoms there
And place them down upon the page,
For some young mind and distant age.
I know, that many years from now,
When winds have rent those petals down;
When bitter fruits will bend them low
Whose branches once were laid with snow,
This gnarled and old crabapple tree,
With fruits a sourful sight to see,
Will lack in sweeter public taste,
And plummet to the ground in waste.
But then, as so things are, my friend,
Recall that once, when near your end,
This crooked bow held softer things,
And bloomed beneath an angels wings.