Rosy Red Apples

There are apples everywhere,

Here and there,

Some are hanging up above,

Others are lying near my feet,

I will pick them all.

I take the ones closest to me,

Hanging on a branch,

And I recall,

Pulling an apple pie out of the oven,

The heat swarming my face,

Cinnamon pleasing my nostrils,

Warming my soul.

The tree having no more apples to offer,

I bend over,

And I remember,

Slicing into that golden crust,

Hearing the crackles as it split,

Seeing the apples soaked with juice,

As they attempt to leave the crust behind.

There is only one apple left now,

My hand picks it off the ground,

And I look back,

How everyone,

That I hold close to my heart,

Smiled with both eyes and lips,

As they took bite after bite,

Of the apple pie.

I smile,

Because the apples are all gathered,

Meaning I will see those smiles again,

Adding to my collection,

Of rosy memories.