The Lilac And The Apple

A long time ago we were planted by hands
That worked in the mines and the mills,
When the country was young and the people who came
Built their homes in the hills.

But now there are cities, the roads have come,

And no one lives here today.

And the only signs of the farms in the hills

Are the things not carried away.

Broken dishes, piles of boards,

A tin plate, an old leather shoe.

And an Apple tree still bending down,

And a Lilac where a garden once grew.

Kate Wolf