Poetry’s like a precious, tender fruit.
O it can take a long time to ripen.
As does the apple in solemn autumn,
After summer’s blissful, frenzied hours.
Yet it is worth the wait, as we gather
The sense and sweetness, gleaned from a lifetime’s
Experience. We mould them, with the tools
Of form and structure, then reap the harvest.
Waiting For Words To Ripen
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