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The trees are Indian Princes, But soon they'll turn to Ghosts; The scanty pears and apples Hang russet on the bough; Its Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late, 'Twill soon be Winter now. Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear! And what will this poor Robin do? For pinching days are near.
— William Allingham
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Words can make you sick. Or healed. - Words create worlds because the universe is always listening... and so are your cells, your psyche, and your children, your team, and the apples
— Danielle LaPorte
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