Standing underneath the branches
As I watched my brother climb,
He would shake the tree with vigor;
It was apple-picking time.
We’d stuff apples in our shirt tails,
Carrying all that we could bear,
Knowing Mom would make some dumplings
If we just could get them there.
Apple fritters, apple turnovers,
Apple pies — mom fixed it all.
How we loved the smell of baking
In the coolness of the Fall!
It’s that time of year again now
As I pass the apple tree,
Wishing I could stand beneath while
Apples are shaken down on me.
moleta mccarter 1999
