First grade is studying harvest and apples.
I’ve read two books, Applesauce Season by Eden Ross Lipson and How to Make an Apple Pie and See the World by Marjorie Priceman (to which a first graders was shocked to learn that chocolate milk didn’t come from chocolate cows).
So it’s a great find to discover this poem by Robert Frost. I am going to make applesauce this weekend.
by Robert Frost
My long two-pointed ladder’s sticking through a tree
Toward 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.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Read the rest HERE
For other poems go to Jama’s blog Jama’s Alphabet Soup.