Hannah stood beside an old oak tree besides a clearing in the wood ,
beneath the ground her Father laid to rest ,
a cross of wood where Hannah's Father stood ,
gathering berries with his daughter in the wood .
To gay abandon they roamed ,
Until dusk caught its evening light ,
and dark clouds stole their evening light .
Berries for bed ,
Hannah's pale cheeks turned to ruby red ,
for the tears she shed .
Where once Hannah's eye would catch some tall dark strangers eye ,
to fleeting wonder strayed ,
now even thoughts for supper lay waste for another day.

Yet from some branch from high above a blackbird sang some sweet
Sonnit of peace ,
that for a moment found its flickering embers of love .
A shawl wrapped up against the cold ,
feet frozen from hard unforgiving ground .

The crow lay dead. behind that tree where Hannah vainly stood ,
In hollow ground underneath  rotting leaves and pieces of wood .
Where snow fell ,
What tales its wings harbored,
to an apple with one bite ,
To an infant child wrapped in holy light ,
To the torcher of a cross ,
To an empty grave ,
To the Glory of Heavens eternal light .

Hannah picked an apple from the wood ,
and cut down a tree ,
Dragged it to her cottage for it was The Christmas Eve .
Red ribbons for her Father ,
Apples to decorate her tree ,
For a woman once ate an apple ,
It is said .