Harvest Poem by James Mills
Harvest
Under apple-heavy boughs they sit
tete-a-tete. Drooped in a canvas chair
he splays his crooked fingers while
she tenderly prunes.
Yellow nails crack,
thick parings spin through
scented air onto dry
seeding grass.
Love,
mellow as the season,
smooth as the hiss of breeze
amongst the fruit
Love,
sown in sapling Spring,
perfect in fragrant Fall.
Easy love,
growth rings circling life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
5/6/2024 8:11:22 AM # 1.0.0.1119
