On first glance you could say they are perfect
Just picked from a tree
Looking up close you see
That is too good to be

White speckles dot the apple
Like sun damage on human skin
They are bruised and dirtied
Never to be the same again

The apples represent greater things
Than there mere bruised selves
Happy times and feasting
Seemingly never depleting
And struggle too

One is bright green
The other faded red
Their differences make it hard to believe
They could have come from the same growing machine
Of nature

Then again
You could say
They are perfect