There was the dark circle,
Faintly visible from my bedroom window,
That fascinated me.
I watched it, and every day
More wood was added to a pile
That covered the ground.
The grass couldn’t grow,
So it withered, died.
But then the wood was gone.
Went a small shape to the circle.
Small hands scooped a hole in the earth.
And I planted a tiny apple seed.
All these years later
And I still remember myself as
If I go back now, would there be a tree?
And what would it mean…
That child within me still believes,
And, as for myself,
That small amount of innocence
Is too great a treasure to hold onto
Than to risk answering a question
That won’t give me any closure.
In my heart there
Grows a tree.
An apple tree.
And beneath its shade
Sits one small child.
…it would mean for a moment I could be that child.