Thursday, 18 March 2021

Knud Sørensen: 'Nattefrost'




Under a tall

autumn sky

the leaves have

fallen from the trees

but an apple’s sitting

on a thin black

branch. You reach up on

tiptoe and pick that

apple. Yellow, glossy,

juicy. You laugh, you

laugh and throw it

over the fence. Night frost

you say. Night frost

and birds.


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