Nick Kasparie

Rookie (3-30-94 / Quincy, IL.)

Red


I came upon an apple tree
And there it hung, deliciously
A dozen feet or somewhere close
I spied an apple, and engrossed
I stared and wondered what I’d do
Its height was great, so I withdrew
I sat atop a dead old stump
And checked my hand for any trump
Completely vexed by my great strife
Of having not the apple ripe
I strode up to the great big Red
And under branches, meekly said:
Sweet apple hang above my hand
I truly doubt you’ll ever land
Though just in case you choose to fall
My hand is here this day, and all

Submitted: Monday, June 10, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, July 31, 2013

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