It’s Not Over Until It’s Over
© Eso A.B.
All comments appearing within brackets [ ] are editorial in origin.
And cut and peeled a dowsing stick,
And closed my eyes and let it lead;
And when I had stepped on the mound of a mole,
And the fork in my hands told me ‘stop’,
I opened my eyes to the light
And found my forehead abut a broken branch.
As something from a long time ago told me
Even as someone called me by my name:
The broken tree, I saw, was an ancient apple tree
With broken branches yet hanging by the skin
Waiting for another May.
I reached the camera and clicked the air.
I promise, I will do what I can:
Kiss her bark and pet her branches;
And think of all the love that took place here,
And linger with her till thought and time are done,
And, come May, pluck with the wind her falling petals,
From a thousand years in the Sun,
From a thousand years in my hair.