In the quiet grove where sunlight streams,
Lies the apple, in its myriad dreams.
Crimson blush and emerald hue,
A story unfolds in morning dew.

Beneath the boughs where shadows play,
The apple waits for autumn’s day.
A gentle breeze carries its scent,
A promise of sweetness, heaven sent.

Amidst the leaves, a silent dance,
Nature’s artistry, a fleeting glance.
Round and full, a heart of gold,
Secrets of seasons it quietly holds.

In every bite, a crisp delight,
The apple sings of day and night.
A simple fruit, yet worlds within,
The journey of life beneath its skin.