Tuesday Poem – To Fall

by SK

The last few apples
hang colourless, still
surrounded by curled leaves.
That smell.

Wooden floors
throw back complaints
outdoors merges in.
Years have passed.

Still. A silent ceremony
brown spots on thin skin
a windfall, crestfall.
Fruitless again.

© Saradha Koirala 2011


Tuesday Poem

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