MEDLARS - SHE'S APPLES!
In the rustic green garden of Catherine of Yarragon Bobbled hundreds of frightful skulls of medlars woe-begone Apples blackened with ague or rotting with plague on To the wincing jaundiced quince, mug-ugly first cousin Yea, hundreds of death-masks dropping with aplomb Like conkers, round brown faces, some bruised mauve to plum Hollowed–out black eyes squinched neath nasal bar’s helm Curving sepals summon knights from a distant Norman realm Mid a circuit of arthritic sticks, twiglets, thin limbs twisting r...