Apple Picking with You

One sunny August day,

not a cloud was in the sky.

We pulled into the apple farm,

We couldn’t pass it by.

A big red barn was to our left,

The wagons to our right.

The orchard in the distance,

Was such a glorious sight!

We paid the fee to harvest,

And headed for the gate.

We climbed aboard the wagon,

And settled in to wait.

The rumbling tractor’s engine throbbed.

The wagon lurched ahead,

And we continued on our quest

For Ginger Golds and Paula Reds.

The golden sun was climbing,

And chatter filled the air.

The wagon stopped, we clambered off.

People scurried here and there.

Heavy-laden boughs

Where sun-warmed apples hung,

Ready to be tasted.

They were tart-sweet on our tongues.

As you climbed and reached and picked,

I held the ladder still.

I reveled in the moment

As our basket, you did fill.

Basket full, we ambled,

Toward the wagon stop.

When enough of us were gathered,

On the wagon, we did hop.

Holding hands, we rode along.

The air was fragrant, crisp and clear.

I knew then, without a doubt,

That I would hold this memory dear.