Harvest Time
Sweet apple, turned sour. Her taste...
too bitter to be devoured.
Harsh summers, unpleasant winters...
her soul; un-nourished by spring time.
She awaits the rainfall,
her day in the sunshine.
And by harvest, though she's bruised to the core;
I know under her skin is a nectar beautiful and pure.
Copyright © Corey Brown | Year Posted 2012
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