The rooting apple tree apples rotting
on the wet Somerset earth, their pips dispersing.
It is that pressing time of the year,
when the apples are turned bitter.
The pewtering pulp fed to Cynthia and her Gloucester
old spots, her teat feeding the sucklers, their last meal.
Rolf rabbit clinching on to Flopsy's ears, fathering some little
fiddlers. Jasmin the goat with her coat, an old grey fleece
to keep her from the freeze.
Jack the curious donkey looking
into the tea shop and its customers' chops,
Cynthia's labour from the year before. Crops
still long in the waiting, the harsh winter awaiting.
Love's labour's lost? Heart of the matter.
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