A Fall Poem

. . .describing a man that I saw on the side of the road on my way to school 25 years ago. . .

The weathered walls of the cider press, 
Warped with dampness, stained with age, but cherished
For yielding sweetness.  Youth had perished
For it and the man stooped beside it--stress
Of rain and fierce winds had done it. His dress
Was rustic--wool sweater, unembellished
Yet his crouching figure a form relished,
Drawing cider into bottles of glass. 

written 9-30-00

Got out an old, old book of poetry tonight. I write more prose these days and I’m not sure why.

I couldn’t find a good picture of a cider press to use with this post, but you can see one like it here.

Like poetry? Here’s a few more of mine:

Sonnet to a Rubber Door-Stop of a Man

Sweet Alchemy