We sit beneath the apple trees,
Which bloomed all through the long decline,
And raised their blossom to the skies:
A world of struggles, famine, war.
Those complicated patterns form
Across the grass like veins of time,
And radiate out from the trunk:
They chart another year of growth.
Another era for their leaves,
Which we will live, then leave behind,
As bees and beetles, moths and flies.
The shade is cool, our days are short.
We plant the seeds and tend the shoots:
Above us spread the apple trees.