The ripe apples. McIntosh,
fresh from the orchard
the smell of the rotten fruit
only making it sweeter
snapping in my mouth,
almost breaking my teeth,
the fresh juice, dripping down my beard,
so tart to the taste, pucker,
hungry for the sharp cheddar
pungent aroma, earthy
clashing and complementing
alive with rich fragrance
joining together, melding
a symphony on my palate
fresh in this season
edited July 9, 2012
October 14, 2010
All of my poems are copyrighted by Raymond A. Foss, 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012. All rights reserved. Contact me at Ray Foss for usage. See all 19,120+ of my poems at http://www.raymondafoss.blogspot.com Poetry Where You Live.
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