of this year’s thoughts some of course
rotting on the ground ‘the falls’
the real apple-pickers call them or others
like my oranges still green and hard
hanging there without a care in the world
then the old heirloom not-pretty thoughts
which survive for only a few days
before their lilt and piquancy
starts to sour and brown
or have I made too much here
of how fall selects its best
to savor on your tongue
and then stands there quietly
waiting for you to do the same
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