Monday, September 12, 2011

Cider morning

Proud apples sweeten
on plump leafy branches,
ripening my autumn garden
with round, fleshy fruit.

A hoarse breeze sneezes
a cider crisp morning.
Innocent as Eve,
I pluck a ripe apple for you.

I trace it’s firm russet skin
moist with tender dew.
I leave it on the kitchen table
to tempt you.

12 September 2011

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