After Apple Picking: Robert Frost’s dreamy farewell to harvest and waking life
by Robert Frost
My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there maybe two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
Today's Garden words were featured on the podcast:
Words inspired by the garden are the sweetest, most beautiful words of all.
Robert Frost