Apple Pie

On Saturday night
Apples from the tree by the orchard gate,
Stripped of their green,
Sliced white into a crust, baked,
Till the house is scented with cinnamon
And sweet brown sugar
Take me back
To childhood and home, to
Autumn with red and orange leaves
Rustling in the wind;
Becoming more than food for stomach,
True food for the soul. 

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.

Leave a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: