Apple Children Poem by Leslie Philibert
Apple Children
The fruit trees have not been baptised
children`s souls in limbo, in mist
Cold green fruit hangs in the rain,
it is a hole in the late afternoon.
They gave been punished by the battery of
the old priest`s car, hurried steps over wet gravel.
Neither heaven nor hell, the rounds of blossom unbroken,
pointless to walk through, should the rain cease.
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...
8/5/2026 2:51:56 PM # rel_20260803T153344Z_4267e77
The first four lines made perfect sense.