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Gather round my children, three,
Let me tell you of this Crabapple tree.
It has a dress of pink and rose,
A teen, I can tell by its clothes.
These years ago when my father died,
"My marriage too," I cried.
Someone offered me a trip to Spain,
I was tempted to be free from pain.
No, no, I can't, I simply cannot go,
There is a future here, I just know.
My children will grow up and marry well,
Then to my grandchildren I will tell,
This story about that Crabapple tree,
How I chose it for this hill's glee.
It is true I plopped in there with a thud,
Amidst the gloom, fog and the mud.
Each year it was a gentle reminder to me,
That bright, bloomin', blissful little tree,
Of simple future times of pleasant sanity,
This little showy Crabapple tree.
"Oh Gramma! Gramma! You are so silly."
"I know." She smiled as they ran willy, nilly. |
