PoetrySz (poetry es zed) demystifying mental illness Issue 7

An Apple Tree on a hot day

Oh dear, dear, dear,
it's such a hot day.
I wish for the basket,
for I can not stand to stay.
August sun is baking me into a pie.
I wish someone would pick me says an apple close by.
The whole tree agrees,
the apples that is.
That being in this heat wave,
is a small price to pay,
just to eventually ripen someday.
Shhh, someone is surly passing this tree.
She's looking quite tempted to eat us up all.
All the apples quarrel that it's them she should see.
For Autumn seems distant and it hurts just to fall.
Lilith wonders at this beautiful site,
and she thinks to her self will it hurt if I bite?
Well I'll take a few home with me maybe today.
The insects would destroy what they could anyway.

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The Lost Colt

Spring arrived and a young horse rode,
by a lone green field,
on an old stone road.
The budding of leaves,
the sound of a brook,
a broken old tree,
in the sun by the brook.
He flew here today,
the robin still perching.
He knows he will stay,
or always keep searching.

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Herbs and mushrooms,
growing in the forest.
Pick them and put them in your basket.
Wind and leaves,
so earthy, so wild,
siamese trees!
Soups ready;
smells good,
like the forest.