An Apple's Sacrifice
'Tis true, noble fruit, green or red,
you'd rather be alive than dead,
but when cruel fate says you must die,
you do so, proudly, for apple pie.
When that ultimate price is paid,
and I solemnly apply the blade -
oh, the horrifying pain and fright,
as you endure this culinary rite.
Try to think of it as fruitful fun,
smeared with nutmeg and cinnamon,
your sliced up body laid in a bed
of flour for pastry, not for bread.
Have you been prepared for what's in store
when I bend to close the oven door?
In an hour, I'll fork you and you'll scream,
your fragrance escaping then as steam.
Your tale ends - you meet your final fate,
covered up with ice-cream on my plate.
Copyright © David Crandall | Year Posted 2025
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