There was a Cherry Tree by Ethel Turner

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There was a cherry tree afoam with flower
As I passed through a village one sweet hour. 
A cherry tree in flower's a half-wild thing, 
Gone back an aeon for its brief, mad spring. 
Sometimes in fruit a cherry tree goes fay,
Steal from your bed and look, some break of day.
But by the side of this one folks had built
A smirking little place, picked out with gilt, 
With paths of concrete and a steel-wire gate,
And curtain-smothered windows, bayed in state. 
Oh, architect who built in that green wild, 
Why were you not a fairy or a child?
Why made you not your walls of warm brown trees.
With rose-wreathed windows singing in the breeze?
Oh, master of that house, why not have planned
Of springing grass the paths on your fair land? 
And hung a little wicket gate, made white, 
For any child to swing on as its right?
I know what happened in the fruiting hour;
The cherries of that singing tree turned sour. 
Ah, touched with faery should a dwelling be, 
Companioned by a foaming cherry tree.

First published in The Sydney Morning Herald, 24 November 1934

Author reference sites: AustlitAustralian Dictionary of Biography

See also.

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This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on November 24, 2012 9:52 AM.

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