The poem talks of Apple blossoms, but my photo is of my Mock Orange bush.

Each swung in danger on its slender twig,
A bubble on a pipestem, growing big.
Long since they swung as three instead of two
Once more, he thought, to take him safely through.
Three made it certain nothing Fate could do
With codlin moth or rusty parasite
Would keep him now from proving with as bite
That the name Gold Hesperidee was right.