Trevor Mcleod Poet Quatrain

Apple Lay

I'm  being followed by an apple
I feel like I've been picked
I wonder if it rolls on by
I'll have a bushel wit

I try to say it isn't me
who sees it as it falls
For me; I'm certain love is me
and gravity can't call

So on I go remembering when
I saw it light the way
And say this apple isn't me
and kick it where it lay

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