The Apple

Written by: Steven Mossburg

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.”