Once, I was handed a
poem, whole
Like an apple picked
from the tree
I needed only to lift
my shirttail, and
Polish a word here
and there.
But today I work
the ground
Under the
tree,
Turning over shovelfuls
of applesauce,
In search of fruit that
is not rotten.
Ahh, I like this one.
ReplyDeleteMe, too. This one, too.
ReplyDelete