It grows in Fortune’s garden
Under the Tooth fairy’s watch.
Aided by Wonder Woman
and Prospering Pan
it grows slow and steady,
Like that swallowed apple seed.
From it I expected a tree would emerge:-
First a little sapling, tender leaved,
Then a full-grown, fruiting apple tree.
I waited, just as Corrie said to do.
Day and night.
I wondered how it would show . . .
Through my ears? . . . Eyes? . . . Mouth?
Where would the branches push through?
And could I bear the weight of new fruit?
I felt funny as it grew in my tummy,
with me unsure of it being divined.
“No time to waste,” Corrie said that day,
“While it grows, your chores grow too.”
She was older; she knew.
Industry would save me and my pregnancy.
All I had to do was listen to Corrie.
The uneaten apples I’d gathered,
She cored, peeled and piled into a pie.
A pie which all heaven craved, it’s now clear,
For shortly after it had been baked she was called,
Mother said, to teach the pie lovers on high.
To this I listened, and again believed,
For these were things mothers ought to know, and
They are the greatest visionaries I’ve ever known.