She was a little green apple;
they threw against the old red barn.
Left behind bruised and broken.
Her seeds weaved into the trodden soil.
And time passed, and her little shoots
pushed through to the light,
and there she grew alongside
the old peeling paint.
Flourishing through the seasons,
and in the summer months,
there you can find her
with her fragrant flowers blossoms,
and beautiful Gravenstein apples.
©Linda J. Wolff 2017 – http://www.urbanpoetry2017.com
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