Treasure Island

Alfred Barna


The Old Apple tree and Dad


Although your bloom petals are wilting
I remember their brilliant fragrant color in spring
Although your back is now hunched and tilting
Before proud and tall, within your boughs the birds would sing
I would climb upon you on summer days to reach the heavens
While your shade cooled me from life's harsh sun
Your leaves told brilliant stories when fall and school beckoned
You awaited my arrival each day that was done
You toiled to produce the fruit, which upon you grew sweet
Mom would have us all gather in your bounty
With which great pies and strudels we would all eat
And speak of good times upon which we'd all agree
Now I am older, with blooms of my own
I caught sight of the old tree, weary, haggard and falling
From the old tree strong ones have grown
But the earth was to the ancient one reaching and calling
I wept with great sadness, wondering if in long ages ago
Adam's sons and daughters recalled times, as the old tree gave way
That from this one tree, a great orchard would grow
But all orchards recall the one from which all limbs would sway
As the old branches were put to ground, a hope still raises high
All life upon earth is but temporal as is the time for our good-bye

Submitted: Friday, March 08, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

It has long been said that you can't go back home. I believe what is meant by that, is that place where we were nurtured with as children, becomes a mythical place where we endeavor to recreate for ourselves and our loved ones becomes a life long quest. As Frost mentions in his poems, as journey is undertaken, where we fret and worry ourselves into the search for things which seem out of reach, wonderful words, that rest upon our tongues, never quite finding their rightful place in audible terms for all to hear and understand. Yet, even in the darkest of frigid nights, we notice stars up in the heavens, twinkling their messages eons before, and eons after us; home is that warm nestling place we all long for in our hearts and souls. Know that your Dad rests and awaits the day, where we can all nestle in that place of familiarity, that long awaited gathering of friends and family; for we all truly shall make it back home. All Fathers know and wait for the day, when his children step inside the hearth, and embrace those long for feelings, of letting go our grief, our cares, our worries, but most of all, letting go of that search; for we are home. Here is a poem, I wrote for my Dad when he left to rest. I hope it brings you some comfort and closure, for our search is temporal, but Love is eternal.

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