Ye kin grow a tree fae iss Da sais,
sunlecht glintin in his glessy een
huddin up ma champit core,
he cuts oot pips wae saft care
wrappit in damp bog roll,
haet in the airin cupboard –
oor seed sprouted, so we potted an wattered an left
in the sun.
Oor saplin, big enough fer the gairden noo
plenty leaves showed, bit nithin mare.
Chap a nail intilt Grunny sais, an we did,
next spring, a tiny aipple, smaa an perfect,
but aa nivver got tae see anither,
we moved awa again seen efter.
Often, aa like tae think
somewy in the country,
an aipple tree is growin
strong deep roots,
a roosty nail hingin oot its trunk –
plunted wae love, left neglected,
still bearin fruit, in spite o its wound.