There my arm extending
to Heaven still as I was
reaching up to that branch
that is there to pick the
perfect apple to fill that
barrel beneath my ladder
Where it is up against the
tree. As I pick, and remove
the apples, and place them
knowing where though
after a long picking of the
rype ones that are perfect
and ready to be picked just
right.
After the barrel of apples
is full I leave them with a
touch by a human hand
and where I’ll leave not going
to be and I store them in
a place of stay in a well kept
place. Where I’ll know to go
when the first snows fall
or the early...