Gayle Sweeney (May 1955 / Massachusetts USA)
The picked red apples, dazzled by the golden sun, glistened
Where they were held beside an old barn in their, wooden bins.
At Christmas red and green orchard colors often are worn.
From simple apples some pure delights of autumn are born.
The shining sun way up in the sky is our biggest star
But I love when bright apples top my table best by far!
Comments about this poem (Apples by Gayle Sweeney )
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