I found an apple core in a barley field one cold day..
As I picked it up I wondered..
This isn’t an apple cores natural way..
As I held it I dreamed who might have had that last bite..
Could it have been a little girl..
Or even a brave, kingly, ruling knight..
Then I thought to myself..
How did it come to be? ..
Sat all alone..
Under this barely tree..
I suppose I could compare to it..
Like the core was me..
Because I’m sometimes lost, and out of my depth..
And Like The Apple Core, Waiting To Be Free..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem