Apple Tree Poem by Carolyn Brunelle

Age is a wretched thing;
it creeps up on me like a spider
tiptoes across her web
to devour latest victims.

Lotions, potions, rubs and pills
keep me healthy and I am most grateful
to take my vacations by the sea
where warmth is my friend.

But one day
when I am no longer at home in these old bones,
I will fly, light as a bird,
to rest in a tree in that heavenly garden;
take special delight in its delicious apples
... and perhaps a spider or two.