Cities and suburbs, real and imaginary.

Sunday, September 4, 2016

Sonnet #64

We pass so many apple trees we think

We must stop and ask why they aren't picked
Huge, old trees, branches sighing to the brink
So many apples, red and vibrant, thick

Do people even know they're safe to eat?
These apples never sprayed on backyard trees
Never bothered by the weather, back from streets
Where pedestrians can't reach what they see
There's so much fruit, fifty feet of fruit
Waiting for anyone to notice, to come and take
These beautiful ones, hidden away in yards where roots
grow deep but no one comes to appreciate
The artistry that she makes, these forgotten trees
This messy nuisance of so many apples, waiting, free

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