My father tended lovingly to his garden Mowing symmetrically He lowered his head Bowing like a cumbersome tulip. Sweat jewelled his brow Then sailed through his wrinkles Leaving tracks which glittered Like bark on the birch tree. He climbed the tree for apples Then suddenly grasped his wrist, He looked at Mum and said ‘Sorry Dear’ Falling down upon the trellis. The blossom fell like soft rain, And beneath the tree my Mum kissed him Saying ‘here we are again my love’. When his parents were alive He was raised by dead authors. Prayers were said with one eye open For God was a willow cane And worship was forced till fingertips blackened Crying for Mr Tumnus in a locked wardrobe He never felt the snow on his feet Just row upon row of God’s cloth Which reeked of bourbon and incesnse. His fathers wrath remained In my fathers limp, and loving words. His solace was the hills And met my Mother there She showed him flowers and hollowed trees And they kissed beneath Apple blossom. Today I took my lover To ‘Crackly Woods’ where they met Carved their names in to an apple tree And kissed her lips on the ashes of blossom, Where my mother and father now rest forever.