poetry by j matthew waters

Late for Supper

The morning arrived
as it always does
a soft rain falling out back
giving the apples
a special gloss
once the shower
segued to sunshine.

By early afternoon
children would arrive
to climb and pick the fruit
and patiently wait
as the owner of the tree
transformed them
into a cobbler.

With bellies full
the little ones ran off
the scent of the kitchen
following them
reminding the baker
her own precious ones
were late for supper.

may two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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