The Apple

An apple hung in a tree by the road For everyone’s joy and delight And all who would pass would look at the fruit And smile at the beautiful sight The apple was kissed by the warmth of the sun It was fed from the strength of the tree It was bathed every day by the dew or the rain It was caressed by a warm gentle breeze People would watch as the apple grew ripe With eyes full of hunger and greed And each day they would look to see if the fruit Was still up in that old apple tree But their waiting grew long and their patience grew short And they began to complain But no matter how much and no matter how loud Their growls were always in vain One sour soul stood at the foot of the tree And looked up at the fruit over head Then said he with a voice of disgust “Aren’t apples supposed to be red?” A second soul stopped and looked in the tree Then promptly began to expound “I know that this fruit is tasteless and sour And I can see that it is not very round” A third person paused and readily agreed And thought that the fruit was quite small Then said he with distaste and disdain “I’m not sure that is an apple at all!” Then a gusty breeze blew And the apple was swayed And down it came and “kerplopped” The three souls stood – stunned and amazed They looked at the fruit that had dropped Just then, a child skipped up and saw the fresh fruit He grabbed the apple with glee He took a big bite and skipped down the road And left the souls by the tree Each soul turned and with a shake of their heads They walked slowly and sadly away They mumbled their thoughts and were quick to declare “That child will get sick this very day.”