Cider making

The darkening pip told us that the crop
Was ripe and so against the dwindling day
We gathered up the fallen, the bruised, the
Misshapen, and chopped and peeled and cut away

Where worm and moth had wound their manky trail,
Before, with every sinew stretched, we pressed,
And crushed and pulped, until the channel ran
Full of the precious juice whose earthy taste

We sealed and captured in our demijohns,
Then waited, while the unselected browned
Upon the sodden earth, as winter’s rain
Set in and beat incessantly the ground,

Reducing us to watchers of this slow
Decay. But now the saddening months have passed –
Outside, the brambles, nettle, elder push
Through the fermented remains of those outcast

While gladdened by the lengthening light, we look
To Easter and the breaking of the seal,
And wonder what delight will be revealed.

1 Mar 26