The shivering roof tiles abhor and moan,
the storm struck house is shaking to the bone,
while water from the sky falls down, and blown
away are well loved trees, hardly full-grown.
Then suddenly the wind falls still and we,
not hiding anymore, come out to see
how bad it is, the damage and debris
and what became of our old apple tree.
Who would have guessed blossom met our eye,
such lovely white, and out of season, why
it started blooming now, in Winter’s high,
with branches full, why did this tree not die?
A miracle it seemed, that Spring like tree,
but it was a farewell, to good to be.