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It’s apple-picking time

I’ll meet you at the orchard gate

bring the wagon, and the baskets

last counted, I counted eight


I’ll head over to the barn,

to get the tall wood ladder down

While there I’ll feed the mare

oats we bought yesterday in town


Tonight we’ll feast on apple pie

draped in sharp aged cheddar,

discuss the progress made today,

 how tomorrow I’ll make cider


The gray clouds move closer

I’ll have to pack these tight in straw

In the morning there will be heavy frost,

lasting now til’ springtime thaw


It’s apple-picking time

Tonight the fireplace will roar

There will be plenty apples for the season,

while winter’s camped outside our door