Fall Harvest
The sky is falling, orange and round
In quantities that do astound
Collecting morning, noon, and night
Even in dark, with a flashlight
And all of this from one main tree
Thank God we don’t have two or three
They’re washed and put into the freeze
When thawed, the skins come off with ease
And then, I run them though a mill
The pulp goes through, but it’s uphill
A gallon in is a pint out
That’s plus or minus, thereabouts
It is a lot of work, it seems,
Persimmon ice cream, it’s a dream
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
