I smiled when I read this one. One of our apple trees has in its very tip-top branches several inaccessible, unpicked apples. The birds flock to them in this weather. Maybe that's what poetry can be, too, a "wrinkled old apple" in the winter.
I smiled when I read this one. One of our apple trees has in its very tip-top branches several inaccessible, unpicked apples. The birds flock to them in this weather.
ReplyDeleteMaybe that's what poetry can be, too, a "wrinkled old apple" in the winter.