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A Bit of Poetry

Holiday time, and time for an extract that has been on my mind this week (with apologies for the mandatory double spacing).

There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,

Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.

For all

That struck the earth,

No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,

Went surely to the cider-apple heap

As of no worth.

—from “After Apple Picking” by Robert Frost

 

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