A TIME TO REAP
A waterfall of crab apples spills
From the tree beside our driveway:
Christmas tree ornaments, scarlet balls
Calling out to be jammed or jellied.
“Do not waste us,” they cry. “Do not leave
Us here hanging to rot unsavored.”
And at church a farm wife rises
To offer her truckful of apples
For cider, for canning, for pies.
This has been a bountiful year.
The branches hang heavy with ripe
Fruit ready to gather, to reap
The summer’s production, a time
For thanksgiving, for counting our blessings.
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