The Apple Pasture

DONE The Apple PASTURE Oh how I long To drift into the apple pasture. Were once was and all well meet. A pure and dear site. Where silver reflection cover the still waters that holds the golden grains of morality and the grazing souls lie young amounce no stars. Oh how I long To drift into the apple pasture Were winds smell of melon and the trees whisper spring corals in the mellow dark and best of light and time creeps into no tomorrow. Jay