Yet The Fruit Poem by Michael Shindler

Yet the fruit of a fallen tree
Still tastes now as ever the same,
Though it grew far across the sea
In a garden guarded by flame.

Whence came the fruit, what was its name,
Which forced man and woman to flee,
With want of fear and weight of shame,
That home hidden from you and me?

Worse than the thief who steals a key
To unlock every worldly aim
Is he who steals a mystery
That was never yet his to claim.

Yet the fruit of a fallen tree
Still tastes now as ever the same,
Though it grew far across the sea
In a garden guarded by flame.