A poem with an apple in it

apples

In the spring the rolling fields

filled with lambs and daffodils

resemble the vibrant green of an apple.

Sitting in the garden

picking all the green apples off the groundç

basking in the sun having fun.

Some peel them

some like them cut

some like them green, some like red

but as for me I don’t mind

so many different kinds.


Clore Poetry and Literature Award, St Benet Biscop School Bedlington

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