The Poetry Room

June Drop

And as I sat, a well formed apple fell.
It lay there looking perfect, beautiful.
Why this one should have failed I could not tell,
its June drop seeming inexplicable.
Compared with those left on the tree to thrive
and those already down, it seemed to me
a certain candidate, sure to survive:
unblemished, firm, well fastened to the tree
I would have thought, its stalk robust to see,
an icon apple, healthy, fine and green
but now, by scarcely noticed tragedy,
reduced to what it was and might have been.
A few days and its glory will be spent.
No reason then. A random accident.

Dorothy Pope