Poetry

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There once stood in a friendly yard
A row of apple trees
Freshly planted, they all stood
Growing as they pleased.

They bathed each day in sunlight
And when it rained, they drank,
And little squirrels and chipmunks
Would play among their planks.

Many years passed by in that yard
And how the trees had grown!
The years of sun and rain and air
Had built their wooden bones.

As Winter finally bid farewell
And Springtime came to be
It was time to search for
The very best apple tree.

The first tree bloomed in pretty pink
It stood quite tall and proud
Its blooms were such a sight to see
It stood out in the crowd.

But when the blooms were due to drop
And apples due to show
The first tree forgot its purpose
And did not one apple grow.

The second tree was very strong
A wide and sturdy trunk
Its branches swayed high in the air
And deep its roots had sunk.
But when this strong tree should have bloomed
And bore its apples fruity
It got caught up in its proud strength
And did not do its duty.

The third tree held the greenest leaves
Like emerald angel wings
They whispered soft sweet melodies
And quiet evening sings.

But when the apples tried to grow
Among the foliage thick
The third tree shunned them all away
For they’d make her songs sound sick!

The fourth tree was no beauty art
It looked quite small and dead
Very little greenery
Tainted its bowed-down head.

But, oh, to shock a weary soul
When it came time to bear
Apples red and plump and sweet
It had them everywhere!

That old ugly apple tree
Whose outside wasn’t grand
Did the job it was called to do
‘Cause inside it knew why it stands.

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