Rosy

 

When we first moved into the old farmhouse                                                     Rosy     by Fiona Linday

At the village edge, it had long since been falling down.

The buildings were picked over for anything remotely useful

But we got you and this beloved spot, out-of- town.

 

Under that dense canopy of your tangy pink blossom

We put up the decorated scout tent, to house a christening party.

New house new baby, or old house and me greedy with baby no. 3?

Either way Hannah came along to cheer us up, heartily.

So, hubby began the sure but steady job of home restoration

Whilst we enjoyed the fresh air, high ceilings and an open fire.

A set-a- side garden patch boasted the old Reverend type apple

Onto whose strong, twisted bough he knotted a used lorry tyre.

Only just up the road from Newton’s nature of gravitation

Where stands the famous flower of Kent eating variety.

I should have expected you wise apple tree to teach us much,

About valuing our long roots and the real importance of family.

 

So when the mobile veg man, Reg, said cut it down,

Replanting we did but in an orchard much further along.

Cos this aged tree held our kids in a swing for many years

Where we heard Han swish, as she rehearsed her song.

 

You reliably gave tasty fillings for our puddings

And I was grateful for your ever honest stand.

You let her, along with her older siblings, safely climb

Against fatigue we will continue to have a battle, I find.

 

As you continue to share my changing burdens                                              So, if an apple a day does keep the doctor away,

I’m sure whilst our youngest leaves for University                                           We’ll share the same spot, harmoniously.

By being the anchor for both laundry line and hammock                         Cos I’ll not deny your chance to let your branches sway    

That time’s just a number blowing over you and me.                        Nor chop down or pull your roots, together we’ll remain rosy.