Harvestsong.
The last apple in the garden,
Fell unnoticed.
While I was away,
Making hay.
From August to December.
From rain to mid-never.
So cold as
'Shiver me timbers'.
The last apple,
Tasted bland and damp.
The fruit of all God,
For all to see.
Natures` harvest replenishing
Wild and ever free.
The last apple was mine,
For the first time,
Falling from August
To gone Christmas morn on,
From sunshine, rain
And fall, through winters`
Seemingly (forever)
Without a snowdropp to recall.
poem by Peter Vealey
Added by Poetry Lover
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