29 September 2010

Ode to a Honeycrisp Apple

The sound of fall
Not falling leaves or trick-or-treaters
But a bite of you, dear apple,
Your could not be sweeter.

All year I pine
And wait anxiously for your arrival
Tolerating other tastes
Biding my time; it is pure survival.

Then the signs appear--
Oh what joy and rapture are mine--
To see you in the market
Bringing arm-fulls of you to my home to dine.

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