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Aug 2016
Pickin’ apples off the tree:
that’s me,
ya see,
writin’ poetry
about all things Autumn.
I look for the ripest reds,
those ruddy red-heads
that caught ’em
a stubborn
sunburn
a sunny summery September afternoon,
when the white horn of the moon
was floating by
in the sea-deep deep-blue sky.
I pluck ’em
and plunk ’em
into a barrel
while singing a carol
to Autumn.

Pickin’ apples off the tree:
that’s me,
ya see,
tryna be Keatsy.
But it defeats me:
I try at it
but die at it.
Knit Personality
Written by
Knit Personality
2.4k
     ryn, Orange Helsfield and PoetryJournal
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