Red Poem by Nick Kasparie

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