Love old woodland orchards, those hiding in the woods are most marvelous. Forgotten but still bearing fruit for the wanderer to find. You have to eat around the worm holes when you have them, ignore the scabs.
THE WOODLAND ORCHARD BY ROBERT P T COFFIN
These apple trees were lost for good
When the little house which stood
Nearby to keep them safe and sound
Sank moldering into the ground
And the children went away.
The waiting forest won the day,
And came and took the orphaned trees
Upon its dark and kindly knees.
The sun comes down more golden here
Than it comes ever in the clear;
The grass is greener for the wall
Of forest round it all,
There is no feet to tramp it down,
Except the little ones in brown
Beneath a deer that comes to stand
And wonder at this tame, sweet land.
You might say this was a spot
Where tame and wild for once forgot
Their old hate; the partridge feeds
On fruit sprung of men’s tender seeds
And pecks the apples touched by frost.
But these are trees that have been lost;
Here one draws a careful breath,
The loveliness is so like death.