I'm a young apple hanging from a delicious tree
She came in her dark blue bibs and big yellow straw hat
Glanced at me and said, you're still green, not ready for me
I ripened to a radiant red, sweet as could be
She passed by again, and said the goldens are for me
Autumn came, dressed in rich tawny, orange, and yellow
But no one came to take me home; I began to spoil,
Turned coffee brown, orange breasted robins pecked at me
My once luscious yellowish flesh was bitten away
Blacking, blackening, I was left hanging, just my core
Withering purple winds severed me
I fell to the snow white winter ground
Rotting to a very fine gray dust
Hoping for another go-around.
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Writing Prompt |
Write an artistic, creative poem. Not more than 15 lines on your favourite subject. It has to have colour and be visually appealing. |
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