At the Apple Orchard
We came from the city
to pick the apples, green, red and gold,
to fill our lungs with the scent of the fruits,
even the hidden worm-ridden scent
is better than the city air;
we came to be surrounded by the atmosphere
of the shared goal--to be ripen, ripen only;
oh, that mature spirit!
wish to drown in it all day long, forever more.
We fill our baskets with
many hues and aromas,
but only one shared goal,
to take home;
to mix them with our daily lives,
to bake pies that bloom in our hearts.
©Byung A. Fallgren
Like this:
Like Loading...
Byung A. Fallgren 
We are moving to a city next year. We will miss the apples trees on our farm. Your poem tells me that a day(s) at other apple orchards can be a rewarding time of remembrance. Thanks!
LikeLiked by 1 person
A wonderful metaphor
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Derrick
LikeLiked by 1 person
My pleasure, Jerry. Thanks so much for sharing your story.
LikeLike