My Orchard

Does nature shine each apple with the same degree of care? Is each one to the others for their sweetness then compared? Do they ripen at a single moment and fall, as bells do chime? Is beauty, or our nourishment the purpose of their time? Or, like poems, is each one unique, a work so truly rare that stands alone amongst the crop, no matter foul or fair Sweet nature does not care a whit, if each ones a perfect prime and for when they fall down from the tree, each comes at its own time I pray you find my orchard full, with branches laden down I pray you find the apples I share here, ripe and sweet and sound I pray you find the one you like, the nearest to your hand I pray you find that when you taste it, you will understand