As my ladder that was leaning
near an apple tree keeping heaven still.
Soon where I’ll fill a barrel full
of apples of fine fruited with a ripe
one each dropping to add to
that barrel that lays beneath my
ladder foot, and stern.
As I reach out to pick it and I can
tell for which I can never felt
like doing this even now when winter
is always a hit and miss but what
hiss do I get if I think about all that coming after this. For I straddle
on by though
passing each mile stone gather
what I can know in the meantime
I try to pick the geuine
Apples that are good for picking.
And stow it somewhere before
that winter with its thick air
that comes with it’s brisk
touch of a cold taste upon the flakes
othat fall after each harvest
when it comes after all I Had
much to go on for though....