Not in that wasted garden <br />Where bodies are drawn into grass <br />That feeds no flocks, and into evergreens <br />That bear no fruit -- <br />There where along the shaded walks <br />Vain sighs are heard, <br />And vainer dreams are dreamed <br />Of close communion with departed souls -- <br />But here under the apple tree <br />I loved and watched and pruned <br />With gnarled hands <br />In the long, long years; <br />Here under the roots of this northern-spy <br />To move in the chemic change and circle of life, <br />Into the soil and into the flesh of the tree, <br />And into the living epitaphs <br />Of redder apples!<br /><br />Edgar Lee Masters<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/conrad-siever/
