Stealing Apples In The Morning Sun Poem by Mark Heathcote

The devil held a satchel and smiled
Like a child, he's going to school...
Like me, he's visiting an orchard
Looking for what's juicy and shines
To take and devour in the break
The pears by the old wall, early fall…
There's no need to climb or shake
But these apples even the starlings
And the bees hesitate to take.
Am I a fool to-taste-of the first one?
Am I the devil's own son?
Stealing apples in the morning sun…

With a smile and a sticky sweet paw
The devil held my satchel open
And my heart had cabbage white butterflies
Out on a bowing thin bough
In apathy reaching beyond the skies
For something even more golden
Then the bees, the apples the sun
Glowing dappled through the leafs
God forgive me, God forgive me,
The devil held open a satchel to me.
Oh was I battered and bruised,
Or is this entire story, telling, you a rues
To sing the devil's blues…

The devil held my satchel open and smiled
And like a child, he's going to school...
But no matter how curt my soul is,
I'm no fool… God forgive me
God forgive me, he's no friend of mine
Now I don't need apples brighter than the sun
I'm happier now to grow ripe
Not drop young like those hard pears
I'm happier now to fall old
Like those apples with the sloes
After the first frost weathers
After the first frost weathers
The apples on their; own, hanging gallows.

Oh the devil he can just go to hell
Cause I'm now doing well…
The devil held a satchel and smiled
Like a child, he's going to school...
Like me, he's visiting an orchard
Looking for what's juicy and shines
To take and devour in the break
The pears by the old wall, early fall…
There's no need to climb or shake
But these apples even the starlings
And the bees hesitate to take.
Am I a fool to-taste-of the first one?
Am I the devil's own son?
Stealing apples in the morning sun…