The Apple
An apple grew at the top of a tree.
I picked the apple-- just for me.
Smooth as a stone, bright as a flame--
it seemed to glow and know my name.
I polished it up and with delight,
I opened wide, and I took a bite.
One bite, just one-- and then one grin
as the sweet golden juice dribbled down my chin.
The fruit was like satin, and it smelled like clover.
It glistened and gleamed as I turned it over.
And just when it seemed there was no more,
I found the seeds at the apple core.
Dark and shining in the soft, cool white,
they sparkled as brightly as stars in the night.
And in the trees beneath the sun,
new apples grew for everyone.
I picked the apple-- just for me.
Smooth as a stone, bright as a flame--
it seemed to glow and know my name.
I polished it up and with delight,
I opened wide, and I took a bite.
One bite, just one-- and then one grin
as the sweet golden juice dribbled down my chin.
The fruit was like satin, and it smelled like clover.
It glistened and gleamed as I turned it over.
And just when it seemed there was no more,
I found the seeds at the apple core.
Dark and shining in the soft, cool white,
they sparkled as brightly as stars in the night.
And in the trees beneath the sun,
new apples grew for everyone.
This poem is copyright (©) Alan M Sugar 2025

About the Writer
Alan M Sugar
Alan shares his poetry in Decatur, Georgia where he currently resides. Now retired from teaching special needs children in the public schools of Atlanta, he works as a writing tutor at Perimeter College of Georgia State University. Alan writes many poems, and you can find some of them in the Atlanta Review, The Jewish Literary Journal, The Lyric, The Ekphrastic Review, The Awakenings Review, RFD and … the Dirigible Balloon.