SECATEURS

 

A spring-like winter’s day for saw

and secateurs

he came to see his apple trees 

now on in years.

 

And when he’d left his plot of land

I saw his snow-prints there.

And I thought: How the cold this season

still lingers everywhere.

 

But what help does all earth’s warmth give

on the day that someone dies?

And secateurs the dead tree give

though a master’s hand them plies?

 

To see original Swedish poem, go to here.

 

 

(P.S. An Anglicised variant pronunciation is /ˈsɛk.əˌtɪəz/ rhymes with cheers)