when my father had been dead a week
I woke
with his voice in my ear
                         I sat up in bed
and held my breath
and stared at the pale closed door
white apples and the taste of stone
if he called again
I would put on my coat and galoshes
White Apples
Donald Hall
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Poem topics: breath, father, voice, white, door, taste, stone, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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