Once in mid autumn,
As I was travelling, weak,
Weary, and benumbed,
I chanced across an orchard
And eased my limbs long tortured.

I lay in the grass
Under a great apple tree
That none else surpassed.
I reposed under its shade,
And dreamt a sepulchral maid.

Her hair was ebon
Spun with silver tresses like
Filigreed ribbon.
It shone like wealthy Corinth,
With full force of hyacinth.

Crept a pallor whirl
In my dark reverie where
She shone like a pearl.
She was of milky white skin,
A virgin, innocent Yin.

She spoke not but gazed,
With eyes blackened to ideal;
A chaste touch of jade
Ushered thoughts of desire,
But left to wallow in mire.

Waking from my trance,
I was met with an old man,
Who, at the first glance
Resembled wrinkled maple.
He offered me an apple.

“The apple you eat,
Has been swollen with her flesh.
And the cold from it,
Is the coldness of her death,
And the fragrance but her breath.”

This I heard from him,
And made good my reply thus:
“I have dreamt a nymph,
‘neath this very apple tree,
And far as my eyes could see:

“She seemed a specter
Of dying trees, with scent and lure,
And lifeless nectar.
Winds did her bidding gladly,
Tell me, old man, who is she?”

“You sit where she sat,
And where she is now buried,
Sweetening fruits, that
Have grown resolute as stones
Here, with the lime of her bones.

“This tragedy starts
With the maiden that had dreamt
Of shattered glass hearts;
With a beauty that pained her,
She shone on flaming colours.

“Her beauty pained her,
Physically like
Tumor or cancer.
She wanted it not- that which
Grave men relentlessly sought.

“A tragedy crept
To her name, as abuse hurled.
Under here she slept
‘neath here like a blazing pearl,
And was cut free of this world.

“Dawn discovered her,
Silk dress torn, and beauty bared,
And innocence marred.
Beneath this apple tree’s stare,
I cried till tears crept to prayers.

“I buried her here,
With dreams and hopes unexpressed,
Under this tree’s care.
Eat with relish sitting there,
The fruit that she now must bear.”

The old man took leave,
‘neath the tree, and another
Trance I tried to weave.
I rummaged the dream landscape,
In vain what we might have shaped.

“Child of innocence,
Spawned in me thee, this desire,
And snared thee my sense.”