Get Your Premium Membership

Hot Apple Cider

Autumn crisp apples bob in the rain filled barrel. Yellow frosts the tips of the highest leaves, and olive beige acorns crunch underfoot. Sunlight is gold dust chilled on the edge of the morn' sky. Hot apple cider.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2020




Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.

Please Login to post a comment

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.


Book: Shattered Sighs