THE Frilsham Wassail SONG

The Wheeling sky is cold above

Orchard soil is warm below

Gossiping roots share nature’s brew

And bond our trees against the snow

Winter’s dark regains the light

Ewe-milk flows to nourish kin 

Discovery unfolds its early flower

And Braeburn buds are setting in

When summer’s bright-fire’s all a blaze

We’ll chase away the codling moth

But laud the lacewing’s appetite

For aphids and their leafcurl froth

From root to trunk to twig to flower

The vital juices flow

From midsummer to gathering 

We’ll tend the swelling growth

Praise Cox’s Orange Pippins

The sweetest of them all

And give the Bramley prize for size

For it fills our family store 

When bending boughs give forth their crop

We’ll gather what we need

But never take what’s more than fair

Nor harvest hoard in greed

When fruit-fall ends the pagan year

And wasps devour the rot

So every creature shall have share

Not one shall go without. 

by courtesy of the Spitting Toad of Frilsham