When your season comes around,
People react with a joyous sound.
Out come the cobblers, the apple pies,
The homemade puddings and the smells we prize.

The sweetness of your ripened fruit,
The reddening skin that you suit,
The tall, deep brown stem you sport,
And the shine on your belly that shows you are the sort.

The sort of apple children love to eat,
The kind that’s juicy, big, and sweet.
The perfect apple through and through,
Shining bright, polished, and looking fresh and new.

That’s the apple we love to see,
To taste, to cook, to smell, to eat.
The freshest apple in the bunch,
The one you bite for that juicy crunch.

I know you know the apple well,
Because in childhood memories it likes to dwell.
Apple juice. You remember that sticky liquid don’t you?
The one you were given to help calm and sooth you?

Yes, the apple has been with us the whole journey through,
It started with Eve and Adam too.
So remember the apple, remember it right,
With every glorious, juicy, sweet, humble bite.