As we bob apples that are dappled like they’ve grappled with the cold,

Peering under, we seek plunder, bits of yellow apple gold

People dipping heads in, dripping, snag their tokens of the fall.

Latching onto catching one, two, twigs then rise with apples twain

Each rise, grinning, fresh with winning, this beginning of delights.

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Image by Nicky from Pixabay