By Josie Whitehead
The autumn sun shines on a tree,
Caressing ripening fruit.
Apples sunbathe in its warmth
Each in its rosy suit.
In glory, hanging from its branch,
Adorned in nature’s best,
A tempting apple sits and waits
And surely it has guessed -
Its growing season’s now complete:
Its redness says that’s true;
And, juicy apples have appeal
To me and also you.
A human hand approaches it -
A human eye as well -
Lured by the memory of this fruit,
Its colour, taste and smell.
This scrumptious fruit is gently placed
In a small girl’s tiny hand
And what to do with this sweet fruit?
Oh yes, she’ll understand.
Her teeth crunch through the rosy skin;
Her tongue tastes juices sweet,
And, bite by bite, the apple’s gone,
Its life for sure complete.
The autumn winds blow strong and cold;
The summer’s gone, that’s clear -
But the tree promises more juicy fruit
Will grow again next year.
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