Green Apples

Green Apples Lovely… not yet ripe, sweet fruit from grandma’s… most favorite tree. She planted it… just for me. When I was born, my mama died. It was a hard time… for papa. He could not understand… how one angel, must be traded, for another. Always I saw it in his eyes, the “less than” look. I am so sorry… my mama’s gone. Yet… she told me a secret… It was passed in beats, of joyful hearts, both new and old, fast and slow, happy and sad, even sweet… and glad. Grandpa, never listened. So I loved him anyway, from that first day, until the last.