Butleigh - Wassail
Trees in Winter

I am long and I grow apples
But I don't know where they have gone
They seemed to be here some months ago
But they have disappeared with the sun.

I'm short and I see apples
In autumn on the ground
But now they are brown and soft
There's not a red one to be found.

I am fat and I like my apples
But I'm cold and don't have them anymore
People are eating them all
And all that is left is the apple core.

I'm thin and I feel apples
Growing on my branch
I cry when they go
But when they are here I dance.

We trees do not like the snow
Though humans always do
It makes us cold and feel so old
Do you feel sad too ?
-- Chloe Cheyne --


A graveyard of trees

Bare trees whisper like skeletons on the move
Some are old and knobbly
Others young and smooth
Its colder than a graveyard
There is smoke in the air
They're burning all the cuttings
Of the trees that are so bare
A freezing wind begins to blow
The trees sound like ghosts as they creak
Trees may drop branches
And can condemn you to endless sleep.
-- Annabel Dukes --


The Winter Orchard
Helicopters gliding over
The rows of trees
All covered in lichen
Apple pie in the kitchen

On the trees there is a hard
And rough outer layer
But a smooth and crispy inner layer

As the clock strikes ten
The church bells ring
Turning from side to side
To make the chiming sound.

Rabbits hopping along
As if they are in a world of their own.
As winter ends the birds come.
-- Jack Gane --


Group Poems
Skeleton of the orchard
I rub my back against an old tree
It creaks. This time of year
The orchard is quiet. It's comforting.
The sky's constantly changing colour
Different trees getting duller and duller
And instead of the apples
There is a soft green moss.
Look at the mistletoe, copper yellow mistletoe
But deep in their heart
They are getting ready
For the big blooming spring.
In the middle of the orchard a fire burns
Everyone standing round.
Apple pie in the kitchen.
It looks like nothing's happening
That's what you can see.
There are millions like me
But I am unique
Spirits float from tree to tree
The trees are dormant quiet and sleepy
I am a flaky skinned, big white spotted
Mistletoe growing tree
There's not a red one to be found
Bare trees whisper like skeletons on the move
I am the one who is known as the tree.
I, Tree

I am the one who is known as the tree
I stand in the orchard writing poems about me
My friends stay by me day and night
To ourselves we are very different
But to sheep and bees we are a very familiar sight
You see are skins are very different textures
Rough, flaky and smooth
Because only I have a bees hive in my tooth
Mistletoe in my nose
And sheep wool in my toes
But I still have creatures cuddling me
Some called John and Garry
Others called Chloe, Kate and Larry
Some times they never stop
And I have to drop apples on their heads
To get them off, but all they do is laugh and eat them
Or climb up my branches to get more of them
I myself think more of the bees
Though I wonder what they will think of us trees.
-- Eleanor Gillett-Skeath --


Who am I ?

I am a flaky skinned, big white spotted
Mistletoe growing tree,
I have thin arms and long legs
Which are rooted into the ground
Nobody can hear a sound
Except the occasion song of a lone black bird
That's who I am.
-- Kate Durbin --


Poem
Skeleton of the orchard
Birds cheeping, sky changing
Some trees old, some trees new
Bark falling
Mistletoe all around me
Lichen brown and grey.

Nice colours all around me
Bare trees swaying in the breeze
Grass like a jungle
Tips as sharp as blades
Trees staring at me
Squished apples, black and brown.
-- Alfie Lee --



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