A gentle breeze blows by,
It rustles the leaves on the tree,
And a single fruit,
Begins to quiver,
It questions the wind,
Yet it's ignored,
And the air tears it from the tree.
The air plays with your hair,
Tossing it to and fro until it annoys,
And in a motion,
You stand up and move,
The wind pushes you,
A little too far,
And you get up and move from the wind.
An apple lands beside you,
You pick it up and take a bite,
And a sweet juice,
Drips from your lips,
So soft they are,
They caress the fruit,
And as you swallow it tickles your throat.
Now you rest against the tree,
The breeze subsides and the sun warms,
And a bird sings,
Gently and softly,
It puts you to sleep,
You lie there lovely,
A scene that one can only adore.