Moon and Apple
by Rolf Jacobsen / Translated by
Olav Grinde
When the apple tree blooms,
the moon comes often like a blossom,
paler than any of them,
shining over the tree.
It is the ghost of the summer,
the white sister of the blossoms
who returns
to drop in on us,
and radiate peace with her hands
so that you shouldn't feel too bad
when the hard times come.
For the Earth itself is a blossom,
she says,
on the star tree,
pale with luminous
ocean leaves.