Conversations With Robert Frost Poem by Caleb Harris

After I went Apple picking
I dazed into to the sun and saw nothing more than axes
My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Is that blood I see
I walked towards heaven, is hell actually there?
Are we still lost inside of our souls?
Why is the world so cold? ?
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill.
I feel as if I have the flu.
Do I still feel Ill.
beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
I no longer am seeing apples
All I am seeing is (X)
but I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep
The pain is dreading in deep
the scent of apples; I am drowsing off.
I cannot shake the shimmer from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the water-trough,
and held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
upon my way to sleep before it fell,
and I could tell
what form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and reappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
and color is not showing
my arch not only keeps the ache,
it keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
And I keep hearing from the cellar-bin
Of load on load of apples coming in.
for I have had too much
Drake tells me not to think about it
I am overtired
I myself desired.
Ten thousand fruit to throw at the walking dead
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall,
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised, or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
its fun to lose a too pretend
Is this the beginning or is the end.
Can you see what will trouble is?
This sleep of mine, whatever sleeps it is.
Is it the clown finally gone,
Dr. Giggle, tell me what it’s like to actually be alive! !
I have returned with my brother
You are now one of us.