Not in that wasted garden br Where bodies are drawn into grass br That feeds no flocks, and into evergreens br That bear no fruit -- br There where along the shaded walks br Vain sighs are heard, br And vainer dreams are dreamed br Of close communion with departed souls -- br But here under the apple tree br I loved and watched and pruned br With gnarled hands br In the long, long years; br Here under the roots of this northern-spy br To move in the chemic change and circle of life, br Into the soil and into the flesh of the tree, br And into the living epitaphs br Of redder apples!br br Edgar Lee Mastersbr br