"After Apple Picking"
My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Towards heaven still,
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
~ Robert Frost ~
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