The Ripening Poem by Maggie Munro

The Ripening

Rating: 5.0

I picture you,
opening the door,
walking up the orchard rows,
in the caramel of evening light.
A giant's shadow peers at you
from in between the trees,
trudging silently with you
as you lift the sun-warm fruit,
cup in one work-seasoned hand
an apple, rich and scarlet ripe.

I picture you,
opening your door,
treading the dew drenched grass,
the raucous song of wattle birds
spritzing the crisp dawn air.
Your hands busied at the basket
gently placing, one by one,
harvest fixed by darkness chill,
all glossy, sweet and unblemished.

I picture you,
opening my door,
singing to the hallway ceilings,
eyes creased deep in blissful smile,
tide of sunshine flooding in with you,
the giant heralding you in silence
as you tenderly bestow
your joyous gift for all seasons,
proud and precious gems of autumn.

Owain Glyn 01 December 2012

Evocative, expressive and very well put together.

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Terry O'leary 26 November 2012

This is a very nice poem, Maggie. Bucolic bliss in a couple dozen lines! Wonderful... Terry

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Lyn Paul 20 November 2012

What a beautiful picture Maggie. YOUR busied hands do a splendid job writing

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