"Apples"

Behold the apples’ rounded worlds:
juice-green of July rain,
the black polestar of flowers, the rind
mapped with its crimson stain.

The russet, crab and cottage red
burn to the sun’s hot brass,
then drop like sweat from every branch
and bubble in the grass.

They lie as wanton as they fall,
and where they fall and break,
the stallion clamps his crunching jaws,
the starling stabs his beak.

In each plump gourd the cidery bite
of boys’ teeth tears the skin;
the waltzing wasp consumes his share,
the bent worm enters in.

I, with as easy hunger, take
entire my season’s dole;
welcome the ripe, the sweet, the sour,
the hollow and the whole.


Laurie Lee (1914 - 1997)



Yes, I know this isn't a photo of apples.  I had to hurriedly snap something to blip before rushing out to the St Luke's Harvest Supper with Mum, and at least this rose was a suitably autumnal colour.  We had a very jolly evening with all the church regulars, including entertainment from some of the members of KYDS, a local youth drama group.  We enjoyed a lovely meal prepared by some of the hard-working ladies, including home-made apple pies with custard or cream - apples supplied by Rev'd Anne-Marie from the rectory orchard (hence the poem).

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