The apple tree

The seasons falls too late for me

The tiny stars within the seeds

Tumble hopelessly from the tree.

Last year it was a constellation of plenty

And we picked the riches

The tiny globes of pinkish bruises

Because last year we were watching

And we seized the opportunity.

Now it is just me and the birds

Eating between the leaves

Arms full of fallen apples and dreams

To smash against the brick.


The End

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