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  • Poetry
  • Stories from Miranda Town


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  • Ten Miles The Apple Tree
    13 Aug 2005

    Somewhere in the breezy haze
    Of green hills under a white sky
    A tree called ‘Ten Miles’ gazed
    Next to the pond of the chicken fly.

    Old Ten Miles was a haven
    For those weary and overdue
    Sparrow, crow and raven
    Ate there the chicken fly stew.

    Lovers would come to grapple
    And travellers from the branches take
    Ripe, sweet purple apples
    And eat them there for eating’s sake.

    Days would turn to night
    And Ten miles leaves would turn
    And those who’d taken flight
    Would gather fruit to burn.

    Amongst the throng of rovers,
    Who came watch this Scene
    Came a young man Farley Grover
    10 miles out of Wellingreen.

    “What’s this?” said Farley to a maid
    “What does all this madness mean?”
    She replied “Friend don’t be afraid
    That remains to be seen.”

    The apples burned in a heap
    And Ten Miles leaves began to glow
    The aroma began to seep
    Into the heads of those below.

    Everyone’s tired eyes glazed
    As Visions began to appear
    The maid danced unfazed
    And she drew young Farley near.

    In the morning Farley rose
    He’d had the time of his life
    The maid lay too with no clothes
    But what would he tell his wife?

    (Taken form Aisling)