Tonight
I am an apple
On a little boy's head.
His hair is fair and ruffled,
It smells of smoke and wind;
And the bark of a lime tree
Is rough
Against my thin skin.
I am the apple,
And I am the damned lime tree.
Soon my bark will be pierced
With a sharp crossbow bolt;
I can see it aiming
At the fair-headed boy
And at me.
And the arbalist's face
Makes my leaves tremble
And branches shiver,
Even though there is no wind.
Never fear, little one,
The man with the crossbow
Won't miss —
Trust your father.
Can you feel the love in his eyes,
Shrouding you like a warm cloak?
Trust him;
His hand won't tremble.
And your hair will smell of apples.
10.10.17