The fruit of Newton's gravity,
The fruit of original sin.
The fruit of the view for the eye,
The fruit of the American pie.
Whether the apple that fell on Isaac's head,
Or the apple eaten in that garden said,
The apple of my eye making one happy,
Or delicious slices of apple pie.
My shiny red skinned and seeded fruit,
Crunching in my mouth.
Either picked up from the ground or tree,
My fruit dropped from Heaven be.
Vera Sidhwa's Other Poems
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