Apples to Oranges

They cut the grove -
My garden of Gethsemane
where I planted my apple trees,
And watched them grow.

I can still see them reaching out
From severed stumps;
They strain then slump.
Like hands - their trunks, fingers – their sprouts.

I watched them die,
Wither like flowers and decay;
Bursting in the heat of the day -
the apples of my eye.

An eye for an eye
Leaves the whole world blind
and so I was told,
To grow oranges next time.