Apple Orchards
| Taliesin Wordweaver |
|
Apple Orchards (POV: Maid Marian’s Maid)
In yesteryear, when I was young, I served my lady Marian well I brushed her hair, I sewed her gown, I knelt by her side at Sunday’s bell One early May, by the lilac trees, My lovely maiden Marian stood. We watched the yeomen sow the fields But soon my Lady was watching the wood We used to play in apple orchards, Their leaves so green, their blossoms white, Good are their gifts when you sit at their roots By autumn’s golden dwindling light That archer set his sights on her heart, I hung my head and held my tongue she clapped and danced in Sherwood Forest- What could I do, we both were young The Sheriff saw a henhouse fox, The lasses eyed his quarter-staff, The yeoman saw his fearsome bow but Marian heard his ringing laugh We used to play in apple orchards, Their leaves so green, their blossoms white, Good are their gifts when you sit at their roots By autumn’s golden dwindling light I wish my voice had rung out clear: Oh Maiden Marian, abide a while There is more to love than hides in a hood I fear that soon you will lose your smile The days were slow, the nights were warm, I’ll never know the reason why She threw her veil to an outlaw man And left me alone, my tears to cry We used to play in apple orchards, Their leaves so green, their blossoms white, Good are their gifts when you sit at their roots By autumn’s golden dwindling light The yeomen reap the golden grain, The women gather every sheaf In twos they go when their work is done My heart it aches without relief I cannot offer grains of wheat, Nor barleycorn, nor oats, nor rye, But year on year, the orchards give When fallow fields are bare and dry We used to play in apple orchards, Their leaves so green, their blossoms white, Good are their gifts when you sit at their roots By autumn’s golden dwindling light The kitchens fill with baking bread, I cannot raise the staff of life I gather flowers, berries, herbs- My kind do not become a wife The apple boughs are bare and brown, No leaves of green, no apples red The wind has whipped and torn them down, I stand in snow, and go in my head… Always back to apple orchards, Their leaves so green, their blossoms white, Good are their gifts when you sit at their roots By autumn’s golden dwindling light I set my sorrow’s song to words, Like ripened fruit, my stories fall I give the gift of good advice- Heartbreak comes to one and all Now petals shine like candle light And call me home to the orchard groves The memories mist in my wistful mind While over the hills, my childhood roves... Always back to apple orchards, Their leaves so green, their blossoms white, Good are their gifts when you sit at their roots By autumn’s golden dwindling light So now her chamber door is locked, And snow is thick upon the ground I’ll never know if she’s coming home, May God defend her wherever she’s found I lift my branches up to heaven, A spray of twigs against the stars The buds on the bough, they understand Their leaves will grow around my scars We used to play in apple orchards, Their leaves so green, their blossoms white, Good are their gifts when you sit at their roots By autumn’s golden dwindling light But Robin returned to England alone, No Maiden Marian held his hand- I pray to God, the Crusaders lie! They say she died in Jerusalem’s sand T’is many years since I was young, My hair has grown both long and white Though Locksley Hall has a mistress new, I keep my vigil every night We used to play in apple orchards, Their leaves so green, their blossoms white, Good are their gifts when you sit at their roots By autumn’s golden dwindling light |
| This page maintained by Cerian Cantwr, cerian@minstrel.com. |