Ode to the Apple Abandoned at the Side of the Road



The fruits of the tree

Lay squandered;

How is it that to the side of the road,

This singular apple has wandered?

Where are his brethren?

And dare I ask, is he lonely?

I picked him up,

But haven’t we all been taught that abandoned fruit is unholy?

I left him there,

I must say,

And though his flesh looked sweet,

I condemned him to a fate of wasting away,

A lone traveler lost

By the side of the street,

A wayward grocery

Left to rot in the oppressive heat.


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A poet driven by the quill, a dreamer of impossible dreams, a lover of that which the world has deemed unlovable. We're all stories in the end. This is mine.

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