After Christmas is cleared away
And shops
are shorn of lurid displays,
Now, outside,
on Old Twelfth Night,
There’s a
stirring in the trees
As merry
music leads us
Along the
Old Ways
Into the orchard,
Flickering
with torchlight,
And log fire burning bright.
With wreaths
of evergreen leaves
A new king
and queen are crowned
And the
‘loving cup’ is passed around
Filled with mulled
cider, or lambswool beer,
Bringing both
warmth and good cheer…
In the cold
of winter
And the
darkness of night
We wassail
and carouse
To waken and
arouse
The naked
apples trees
And wish good
health to them,
In root and
branch, fruit and stem.
Then: pots and pans
are clanged
And shotguns
banged
Uncluttering
the branches
Of lingering
malingering elements,
Replacing
them with shining lanterns
And pieces
of dunked, drunken toast
For robin,
the good-fellow, to make the most
As we raise our
voices in joyful boasts:
‘Ere’s to thee, Old Apple Tree!
And so
enjoining one another
To make
merry in midwinter
And joining
together both bark and skin
We hope, once
more, the trees will bring,
In autumn
after summer after spring,
As much as
we give to them
In our wassailing
So that next
year, we may all share
The abundant
health and wealth of the orchard
Many an apple,
many a pear
