An Apple Tree
I used to speak with an apple tree—
She was ready to please.
It was time for her fruits to be
Eaten in Thanksgiving.
Her fruits were largely fresh
And not penetrated by any worm.
It was time for the world to mesh
Throughout her juices, turn by turn.
I invited her to join my family—
To forget about nature's plea.
Yet she couldn't resist that calling—
She denied me.
The crowds gathered in distress
About how I rejected the fruit they yearned
"I cut that tree down, " I confessed.
"And oh—she burned and burned! "
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Comments about this poem (An Apple Tree by Edwin Cordero )
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