Crataegus (/krəˈtiːɡəs/), (from the Greek kratos strength and akis sharp, referring to the thorns of some species) commonly called hawthorn, thornapple,May-tree,whitethorn, or hawberry, is a large genus of shrubs and trees in the family Rosaceae, native to temperate regions of the Northern Hemisphere in Europe, Asia and North America. The name "hawthorn" was originally applied to the species native to northern Europe, especially the common hawthorn C. monogyna, and the unmodified name is often so used in Britain and Ireland. The name is now also applied to the entire genus and to the related Asian genus Rhaphiolepis. The name haw, originally an Old English term for hedge, applies to the fruit.
Crataegus species are shrubs or small trees, mostly growing to 5–15 metres (16–49 ft) tall, with small pome fruit and (usually) thorny branches. The most common type of bark is smooth grey in young individuals, developing shallow longitudinal fissures with narrow ridges in older trees. The thorns are small sharp-tipped branches that arise either from other branches or from the trunk, and are typically 1–3 cm long (recorded as up to 11.5 centimetres (4.5 in) in one case). The leaves grow spirally arranged on long shoots, and in clusters on spur shoots on the branches or twigs. The leaves of most species have lobed or serrate margins and are somewhat variable in shape. The fruit, sometimes known as a "haw", is berry-like but structurally a pome containing from 1 to 5 pyrenes that resemble the "stones" of plums, peaches, etc., which are drupaceous fruit in the same subfamily.
All fear and power
All ready for warning me
Askew with red jetted eye
All as a day in sand (and rain)
And when you're near all me now
And then think never before did it seem so far away
All hostile to me
The nerve is bared the sense is real
There's places and houses fired
Inspires all fire in the inside you
Times are fine find all nine
And nurses find me in again
Treating our matey kiteman
Boiling off his belly
Papering his length all off his swing
He mask his hand and he grin to stay here
Or even to play here
Rather than be kept in on his own
We only know what doesn't show
What do don't ask me why
Oh we're in again and we're all the same
Red as egg laid on the page
Don't mind the unbalanced mind
It's fine and mine and yours too
Share with me and me is clean and
Treating our matey kiteman
Boiling off his belly
Papering his length all off his swing
But I don't really think so
Maybe I don't think I care
So no one else can know
Ah well another day