The grove hides its secrets well,
cowering behind the decrepit shed.
That rotting wood that stands askew,
door long felled, splintered, near gone.
As if to escape, to ignore and deny
those happenings long long ago.
They argued under darkening sky.
Stars glimmered fearfully
as stealthy clouds crept in.
Temperaments turned tempestuous
till fury exploded in death,
and thunder roared its anger at their folly.
Found next day in storm soaked grove,
blood spewed over fallen fruit
mixed with rotted apples’ smell.
Their deaths desecrated this century farm,
marking 1957 as its demise
when lovers met, quarreled and died.
Grove turned fallow years thereafter,
apple trees neglected, tendered not.
That vile act didst poison roots,
stunt growth, until gnarly limbs
abandoned since that fateful night,
crouched low, berating fouled earth.
Each spring since, forgetting not,
winds gust disapproval.
Rend blossoms, so few to bloom.
Pockmarked fruit then drops to earth
as bees from nowhere find their way,
steal succor from this grove’s sad plight.
Autumn strips meager tattered cover.
Blighted fruit and curdling leaves
gladly shed by grieving trees.
With naked desire, they lust for snow.
That white soft silent blanket
to comfort limbs; cover blood stained earth.
Winter offers unconditional anonymity.
Memories of past sins cast upon this grove
retreat from souls of trees.
No fruit. No activity. No remembering.
Simply slumber, hibernation stupor.
Sweet serenity, adrift at last.
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where today Laura asks us to consider rhetorical questions. She then provides six unique questions, asking us to choose one for the topic of our poem. I chose Why did the grove undress itself, only to wait for the snow? Image by cocoparisienne at pixabay.com
lillian the home poet 
I really like the story you tell… the neglect and scars, even the death being hidden by snow. So true until it thaws again. A very good answer to the question.
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Thank you, Bjorn! I do love the peacefulness of snow in a long stretching field or lawn or grove….untrampled. But in the city, it doesn’t last like that very long and soon the grit and grime of the city taint it with soot and make it just slush you have to make your way through.
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we chose the same prompt Lilian and I love the drama you created here – some very memorable lines
“as bees from nowhere find their way,
steal succor from this grove’s sad plight.”
and
“Blighted fruit and curdling leaves
gladly shed by grieving trees.”
the ending brings a cool clean slate
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I really let my imagination wander with this one! I’m over to read now….looking forward to seeing how you used the question. Such a thought provoking prompt!
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Wow Lillian, I love how you wove your story with the seasons as though they marked and witnessed and remembered. Some lovely alliteration too, thank you for sharing x
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Glad you enjoyed!
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What an amazing journey the question has taken you – and us- on, Lill! I like that you reference the question in the first line and then wander off to explore the area around the grove. I feel sorry for that decrepit shed; as you may remember, I have one in my garden just like that. The story behind the shed in your poem is intriguing with the argument and tempestuous temperaments exploding in death – and fabulous use of pathetic fallacy. I’d love to know what the argument was about and how they both died. The blood and smell of rotted apples combine to make a powerful image – and you played with the word shed!.
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Thank you, Kim. I reworked this alot trying to shorten it….but just couldn’t….so I appreciate your words “amazing journey!” 🙂 Glad you enjoyed. I found this a really wonderful prompt to think through and let the imagination wander! 🙂
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What an incredible story you tell here Lillian.
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Thank you for your comment, Linda. Much appreciated!
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Powerful story-telling here, Lillian! Sadly, my husband knows true story in our rural neighborhood of a man who murdered his wife at home in a rage many years ago…I think the trees do grieve and snow tries to cover bad memories.
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Oh dear….my story here is pure fiction….went to the dark side in my imagination. Just think of all the things that trees have witnessed in their many years!
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Good, bad, and ugly…
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Magnificent bit of writing, Lillian, and the answer to the question is understandable. Blessed relief. Favorite lines:
“bees from nowhere find their way,
steal succor from this grove’s sad plight.”
and
“Simply slumber, hibernation stupor.
Sweet serenity, adrift at last.”
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So glad you enjoyed. Sometimes stories just weave their way through one’s imagination, right?
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❤ yes
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What a journey. There is a story in NC about a man who killed his lover and buried her in an apple grove. From then on the apples had flecks of blood in them. This dark tale reminded me of that. Good story.
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Flecks of blood on apples henceforth….oh my! Now if it were an orange grove, I could have write of blood oranges. Why didn’t I think of that? But there is not much chance of snow on orange groves.
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Nope. But sometimes there is frost!
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Powerful, dynamic response to Neruda’s inquiry. You did create a complete journey, a sad scenario, a wonderful bit of poetics–excellent word-smithing and internal rhyming. Also, it shines when read aloud.
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Thank you, Glenn. I always look for your response…means a lot to me.
Yes — I almost always read my poems aloud as I edit them for their final version that gets posted here. But then, I’m a very verbal person! 🙂
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I so admire the seasonal theme with winter providing retreat from souls of trees – sweet slumber until spring comes again.
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Yes, and for these trees, sweet slumber and blessed relief from the nightmare they live in the other seasons.
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I was drawn in effortlessly to the epic essence of this poem Lillian. I really liked the sense of winter as a type of absolution. Beautiful photo as well.
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Winter as absolution — yes indeed….especially for these trees. They receive blessed relief.
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Spectacular storytelling, Lillian.
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Thank you!
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Kudos and this “Blighted fruit and curdling leaves
gladly shed by grieving trees.” wow you made me shiver at winter.
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I played with different words for the leaves descriptor here….and finally settled with “curdling” — from your response, I’m glad I did! Glad you enjoyed.
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The last two lines encompass the act of forgetting. I love your lush language, so reminiscent of Neruda. (K)
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Thank you so much. Glad you enjoyed!
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A poignant tale. The sense of grief shared by the trees and their leaves as they await the snow is powerful.
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“That white soft silent blanket
to comfort limbs; cover blood stained earth.”
to hide from it all… Nicely woven story/poem.
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Great story! I used the same prompt, but found a different tale. I never look at the other poet’s offerings until I’ve written my response because when the images are as vivid as yours it’s hard to go somewhere new. But afterwards, vive la différence! It’s fascinating to see where we go using the same starting point.
I particularly liked these lines:
Autumn strips meager tattered cover.
Blighted fruit and curdling leaves
gladly shed by grieving trees.
I like internal rhymes very much and found your use of this one to mark the turn in your poem very effective. I also liked the way larger nature – autumn, winter – come in and take over to heal and restore the grove. This is actually a wonderful show-don’t-tell environmental poem.
I hope you don’t mind one tiny quibble – the word “dids’t” didn’t work for me, its seems anachronistic, especially since the date is so explicit, and, for me, interrupts the flow for a second.
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A chilling answer to the question.
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