Non-Erotic PoetryApples Grow In New HampshireApples grow in New Hampshire.
Wild they ripen, tame and feral
From summer sun to Christmas Carol,
But the fall scent
Of those allowed to overgrow
Perfumes the air
From bluebird flight to lasting snow.
Apples grown on orchard trees
Are picked and sold
And some are squeezed.
Apples wild in forest wood
Seldom bear
Much fruit that's good.
But apples on abandoned farms
Still drop fine fruit
In nature's arms.
Both mouse and bird do make full use
Of choicest flesh
And apple juice.
Deer and coon are sure to stop
At slightest cache
Of windfall drop.
And as I've gone along my way
More than once I've paused
To pray.
Meeting God
I just stand mute
And breath the scent
Of autumn's fruit.
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