Fruits of Her Labour (Extended)
An apple resting on a thick wooden board;
cut and fashioned from the oak tree ford.
In working hooves this fruit be transformed;
To be peeled and sliced or crushed and poured.
Into the mill, ground into fine white dust;
Back to the kitchen with the flour, I trust?
Egg, butter, flour and salt for the crust;
Kneading and rolling with love is a must.
The dough laid gently in a ceramic base;
Pour out the filling in the middle for taste.
A top layer of pastry to complete the embrace;
Stoke the flame, in the brick fireplace.
From oven to window, left to cool and rest;
Load up the cart and head to the west.
Stand in the stall and yell from your chest;
Tell them the quality is only the best.
Fritters and tarts for a decent exchange;
Cobbler, strudel and pie fresh from the range.
Customers aplenty, some of them strange;
“Come back sugarcube, ya fergot yer change!”
The sun is setting, it’s the end of the day;
Your poor aching legs, time to hit the hay.
You should rest Applejack, whadd'ya say?
“I can’t just yet, gotta make sure they’re okay.”
*
Granny Smith is a spirit bold and free;
Trying to climb those steps, she grazed her knee.
“I’m sorry der Applejack. Mah hip ain’t whut it used tah be.”
“That’s all right granny. You’d do the same fer me.”
“The gurls and ah just can’t seem tah find our way!”
A frustrated Apple Bloom cried out in dismay.
“You and yer friends will get yer cutie marks one day.”
Said a comforting older sister, wiping her tears away.
Poor Applejack was truly tuckered out;
She works too hard, of this there is no doubt.
For a breather she walked her usual route;
While she was at it, checked the beans and sprouts.
*
Seeds in the ground and fruit in the trees;
Reaching for light as they push and tease.
Singing and swaying in the cool summer breeze;
Such a delight on nights such as these.
Waves of fatigue come and go as they please;
Crashing insistently, bring you to your knees.
Fallen asleep outside by twigs and leaves;
Finally at rest, finally at ease.
*
One strong red apple who was good to the core;
Scooped up his sister and made for the door.
Her breathing was soft, with a gentle snore;
Big Brother sighed, this must’ve happened before.
Slowly setting down the amber mare;
Putting her to bed, with utmost care.
He wouldn’t wake her, he wouldn’t dare;
She was tired and beat, it was all she could bare.
He tucked her in and turned off the light,
Thinking to himself that was it for the night.
His ears flickered as his muscles clamped tight;
A voice from the darkness, nearly gave him a fright.
“Thank ya Big Mac. Did it happen again?”
Asked the sweet mare, with the straw yellow mane.
“Eeyup.” He replied with his expression plain;
Hiding a smile he could barely contain.
Sandwiched ‘tween her feather quilt and wooden bed;
Lays honesty with pillows supporting her head.
Fatigue made her complexion considerably red;
Her muscles are weak and feeling heavy as lead.
Sweet coat of honey, with warm amber bristle;
Salty shaken strain, flecks out like fine mistle.
Heavenly form sculpt from marrow and gristle;
Figure divine, angel's hammer and chisel.
Three scarlet apples, ripe and ready to reap;
Mountains and valleys, some gentle and steep.
Picked fruit of the tree, nourishment fills holes deep;
Tempered beauty, cause mine foolish heart to leap.
A momentary disturbance as she opens her eyes;
Tossing and turning with a fall then a rise.
A lovely gaze devoid of deception and lies;
Can’t stay awake long no matter how hard she tries.
Emerald lens, glistens softly in its light;
Mirror of beauty, what a glorious sight.
It is impossible, yet this moment feels right;
How can the sun shine, through the thick dark of night?
A boisterous whisper and a silent shout;
My state is in flux, yet I remain devout.
Paradoxical notions tempt me to doubt;
Then I gaze at you and my fears are cast out.
No horn for your magic, no wings for your flight;
You alone are the fix to my blight.
Your magic moves my hand, as I draw and I write;
You soar in my heart, with all of your might.
Threads of bright soft gold, soaking wet in the rain;
Your pure burning soul, warms me again and again.
The scent of straw, pervades from your tail and mane;
Being one with nature, in bone, blood and vein.
Pure stark white marks, upon your golden visage;
A pair of vessels, lured in by your image.
Six bright jewels, a beauteous assemblage;
Beacons alight, guide lost ships to their berthage.
You the sun shining, keep the darkness hiding;
Bearing good tidings, with honesty riding.
In me confiding, secrets speaking or writing;
Memory abiding, beauty residing.
It’s late in the morning, yet you can’t stop yawning;
Chores are boring, let’s get back to snoring.
Applejack darling, is that your name they’re calling?
No matter, on deaf ears those voices are falling.
Don’t they understand? You’re tired and through;
“Why’re yah wakin’ me, whut’s wrong wid you?"
"Ain’t nobody works as hard as ah do!”
After that was said, there rose a feeling of rue.
“Good mornin’ Applejack, sorry to wake yuh.”
Said granny with Applebloom right behind her.
A banquet tray obscured the face of her sister;
A breakfast offering on a silver platter.
“I’m sorry ya’ll, thanks for being so sweet.”
“It’s the least we could do, now come on and eat!”
The food was received on top of the bed sheet;
Apple cinnamon pancakes made with buckwheat.
Breakfast in bed with the family all around;
Except for one, who was still to be found.
“Where’s Big Mac? He found me asleep on the ground.”
“Now don’t worry ‘bout him dear- Not one more sound.”
After Applejack was done eating her fill;
Her sister Applebloom had something to reveal.
“Big Mac agreed tah do yer chores, aint that a thrill?”
Cried out Applebloom in a voice so shrill.
"Well yes Applebloom dearie thayt's mighty nice.
But for all that work, one pony won't suffice!"
"Okay granny i'll help, but save me a slice."
Applebloom hugged her sister tight like a vice.
