Three Poems by Caitlin Clase
A Triolet in Praise of the Winter-Hardiness of Apples The last gold flung from the kingly summer sun— That apple hung upon the lowest bough. From all the flame and light of the season spun; The last gold. Flung from the kingly summer sun, The red gold from encroaching dark is won and set in the year’s bright crown. Last gallant bow. The last gold fl…
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a month ago · 6 likes · 2 comments · Shannon Winestone
I left you a comment there (just realised you might not get notified). I love these poems.