George Beecher

(Clearwater, FL, USA)

Simile Of The Cider Mill - Poem by George Beecher

We are like apples - Each rolls
Around taking its own course
But all eventually have the juice
Squeezed out - Some are thrown out
Before reaching the mill - those with worms
And rot make a bad taste - Some
With richness of soil minerals
Make a fine drink How do we grow? Do we ask
Why there is a mill
Or who is to take a drink?


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Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 2, 2003



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