Green Apples

When I was a child
I loved to climb to hide in
My special apple tree
I’d take my book from the library
Settle in the branches happily.
Reach above my head and pluck
A smooth and shiny light green orb,
Bite a green apple, sour, sour,
Sour, tart, pucker your mouth sour.
Trickle down your throat juicy,
Sour, sour, sweet, good!
As good as my story,
As sweet as my hiding place. 

Published by Elece

I am a photographer and a freelance writer. I write stories, poetry, gift books, and magazine articles––both print and online. Photographing children, places, and especially flowers is my hobby.

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