HERE’S A POEM ABOUT CIDER FROM KAY WOZENCROFT (YOU KNOW, ‘ER WHAT WUKS IN MITCHELDEAN CO-OP):
Cider
When the apples are all gathered
And the orchard trees are bare
When the mill-stones turning
Slowly
And a rich scent fill
The air
As the apple-pulp is squeezed
And the juices start to flow
And the barrels are made ready
In the evening’s twilight glow
When hands that oft have laboured
In the darkness of the mine
Life the golden liquid laboured
Over carefully measured time
Raising glass to mouth with sweet
Anticipation
Of the sparkling quenching power
Of this crystal bright libation
When glass then are downed
And sharp sweetness has been
Tasted
When sorrows have been drowned
And not one golden droplet
Wasted
When you’ve tasted the pure
Clean freshness
Of this princess in a glass
And you lie in Autumn softness
On cool and yielding grass
And watch with placid eye
The sky above you stretching wider
Then you, my friend, like I have
Had your first ever glass of
CIder
Kay A. Wozencroft
(Reproduced by kind permission of the author)
And her book of poetry, Forest Flowers, is out now.
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