Apple Tree
Like in a storybook
I lose myself,
and find an apple tree
on a meadow-shore.
Up top, I pluck an apple.
Below, grass sways with shadows
of wind-dancing apple branches
tapping a gray-worn trellis.
A far off farmhouse sets out west,
and I climb to meet the hills,
an apple core
draped in dappled dusk.
A poem, in poems. Seasonal.
Made . Brought in .
clear · 21° · SE 5 kt · only the sun and moon and stars