Apple

A poem about the wonderful fruit

Apples, crisp like frosty grass on a winter morn,

the crispness adds the music for sweet and sour to dance together on your tongue.

the earth is showing its approval by lavishing its colors on the magnificent fruit

the skin seemingly looks as if dipped in sun beams and springtime leaves,

magical snow seems to coat the inside, sparkling and pure white.


The apple tree bends and leaps in the wind,

as if accompanying the wind in its everlasting dance of freedom.

the tree reaching toward the sky groping with its limbs for more sun and rain,

though the bounteous fruit is forcing it back to earth.

The apples fall, gravity finally overcoming,

creating even more of the magical fruit bearers.


The apple, so simple yet so wonderful.