You were sitting in my grave
that day, and smiling like you
always do.
Which I had
for the first-time seen.
I'd hand an apple out to you, if
I had picked one
on the way.
Your
outstretched hand
held apple green.
Your smile told me: seize the day!
"Thank you!" I claimed,
and plucked "Just what I
wanted!" from your grasp,
at last.
Then looking fast
upon that hard
and rounded
sheen, I grew
confused.
"This is for you,
grave apple queen."
Your troubled smile,
first I'd ever seen,
grew wide enough
to fall
into and dream.
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