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?
Comments about Simile Of The Cider Mill by George Beecher
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Read poems about / on: simile