Picking Apples

Pat Clark

The gate creaked as I opened it this afternoon
and again as it closed.
With the sun behind you I forgot
how frail you had become.
You came towards me,
your basket full of windfalls.

It looks heavy, let me take it.

Soon you'll have to go
and I will manage without you.
But now, in this garden,
we are together,
picking apples.

The wind is cold for autumn.
Take my jacket,
it will warm you till you go home.

I will stay another hour
picking apples
and you will close the gate behind you.



Pat Clark

Pat Clark, originally from Wales, moved to Morpeth in 1975, planning to stay for three years.
She still lives in Morpeth and is joyously surrounded by her family.

After many years as a studio potter, she came late to writing, on retirement, in fact.
Though she loves it, she confesses to being a lazy writer. Her writing usually emerges as poetry.

Picking Apples is about the loss of a very dear elderly friend in whose Somerset orchard it is set.

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Picking Apples © 2015 Pat Clark: used with permission.
Copyright of this poem remains with the poet: please do not download or republish without permission.