An apple falls slowly down,
Hitting the ground with a plop.
It joins others down there,
Waiting for more to drop.
...
Don’t ever leave your pick-up truck
In the barnyard, you’ll press your luck.
If a mean ‘ol bull gets in with it,
He’ll beat it to scrap in a minute.
...
He was tied to the wheel,
The sailor had no choice.
A storm was approaching,
Already drowning all voice.
...
Apple Orchard
An apple falls slowly down,
Hitting the ground with a plop.
It joins others down there,
Waiting for more to drop.
Sun is rising over the orchard,
Apples, red as a flare.
Yellow jackets fly to them,
Buzzing sounds filling the air.
A tractor forever mired in weeds,
Rusty and leaning in a brook.
John ‘ eer can be made out
On faded green paint if you look.
Next to this old tractor stands,
A marble slab that’s worn and gray.
Upon it is engraved a name,
The tractor’s owner beneath the clay.