An Apple Poem by Frederick Francis
An Apple
I am but an apple
Hung upon a graceful bow
Of an apple tree.
I am not a silly apple
I do not pretend
I am the only apple.
I know I will grow ripe
The winds of the world
Will tug at me.
The tree will tire of me
Dropping me to the ground
Bruised among the others.
I will rot on the ground
Only to find my self
Once more an apple.
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4/23/2024 8:27:53 AM # 1.0.0.1119
