12 Nov The Fallen Apples
I sat on a bench, under an apple tree
And you should also know, something it taught me
Up on the tree, the apples were rosy red,
Large and round and tasty,
All shiny and well bred
But down on the floor
Were the poor little dears,
Little, green baby apples
Fallen just like tears.
‘Isn’t that a waste’, I asked the apple tree
You’ve lost so many children
It looks so sad to me.
The tree smiled a breeze
All fruity and happy
‘If you can keep a secret’, it shirred,
‘I’ll make this snappy’.
The big fruit I grow, goes out into the city
But the little apples that fall,
They’re my pride, not pity.
Each seed that meets the soil
Will become a mighty bough,
And I’ll have a family of trees
In some years from now.
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