baked apples |
by anne campbell |
baked apples in a pan of blue |
all syrupy and golden brown |
with cinnamon and nutmeg, too |
and drifts of sugar, melted down. |
upon the kitch table stood |
and i detected in the air |
a scent so wholesome and so good |
i could not match it anywhere |
i remember how i stood, a little child |
beside the cheery kitchen fire. |
these homey things my heart beguiled |
of simple joys one does not tire |
the old home seemed so near today |
because a little girl of mine |
came rushing in from school to say |
baked apples! my, they smell so fine |
baked apples |
core as many apples as desired and place in a shallow baking dish. |
fill the cavities in the apples with brown sugar, a few raisins or nuts and a small piece of butter. |
add boiling water to about one-half inch depth and bake uncovered in a 375 degree oven until the apples are tender. |
serve either warm or cold with cream. |
day's end |
by mary fink |
the lights go on, one by one |
when darkness falls and day is done |
they send a greeting |
cheery, bright |
across the fields to neighbors near . . . |
whispering low |
good night |
good night |
