I watched a family gather

The apples under a tree…

At my Pastor’s house I wondered

If that would do for me.

One wouldn’t eat them straight off the ground,

But want to wash them first…

Sweet cider would be nice around

For an overwhelming thirst.

Pies made with some crabapple

Are sweet with just enough tart…

My mother’s pie crust would hold it quite well,

For her, pie crust was an art.

This year, only the geese indulge

In fallen apples by the road…

For them it is an annual ritual,

Traveling energy being stowed!


–Jonathan Caswell


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