“Nursery” Rhymes

THE ORCHARDIST’S LAMENT

by Jack Kertesz, January 2021

These are rough drafts. The first round (paragraph? I’m no song writer) was set in place out in the orchard and  Laura and I had a good chuckle, but it still makes no sense. Inspiration for all of this comes from Liza Greenman’s EAT UGLY APPLES. I am inclined to believe that an effort to promote less than perfect fruit needs more promotion. This is taking a crack at it. No rights reserved.
Submit your lyrics for SAUCE, CIDER, CODLING MOTH, APPLE MAGGOT and more.
Edits are welcomed.
When done, remember to CLAP YOUR HANDS!

If your apples are not ugly then why not
If your apples are grotesque give a shout
If your apples aren’t appealing 
(and these set your pigs to squealing)
And the flavor sets you reeling
Then an ugly apple will not make you pout

If your apples are not perfect don’t despair
You could choose to grow something like a pear
You could top work an old Callery, to a pear that will make calories
Native insects would consider this as only fair

If your apples don’t look store bought celebrate
Local insects had something to pollinate
Things like fly spec wash away, cut out parts that have decayed
And be happy with these pieces on your plate

If your apples have rough spots don’t say goodbye
Just remove the parts that catch your eye
You needn’t be so choosy of the apples that you grewsy
You can always bake them into a nice pie

If your apples are too wormy try this out
Pick up drops to discourage bugs with snouts
Try a spray or three of clay, and while that this won’t make your day
The end result will likely make you shout

If your fruit trees fail to grow look around
You need to check their trunks down near the ground
Also higher and slightly lower, look for tell tale holes and frass
For in some areas round headed apple borers do abound


The Bugs’ Lament
(with apologies to Dr. Seuss)

by Tom Vigue, February 2021
It’s so gross!  Oh, ick!
Like an oily slick!
It gobs up our spiracles,
We can’t get no air!
They’ve smeared it all over
With their nasty old smearacles!
No place is safe,
We are filled with despair!
Look out!  It’s a trap!
It’s all sticky with goo!
My wings will not flap!
It’ll get on yours too!
And the trees!  They’re all coated 
With nasty white stuff!
That itches and scratches so,
We’ve had enough!
Plus there’s stuff on the tree trunks
As tough as cement!
Our mandibles break!
They just can’t make a dent!
So, now, all of us bugs
Hang our heads and lament.
We must dine somewhere else,
But we’ll never repent!
—— Tom V.

Comments are closed.