Crab Apple Poem by Mark Heathcote
Crab Apple
We've all sunken teeth into a sour ball.
Aghast at its bitter depths of beauty,
hidden to later appal like human nature
loves no different than this tutti-frutti.
These golden orbs halve rouge with pith
their shrunken skull's a coffins core.
With a taste like a dead sun's zenith,
O tang-of-death it's rancorous, tariff.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Topic(s) of this poem: poem
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4/19/2024 8:04:54 AM # 1.0.0.1119
