Candy apples, so flawlessly assembled, displayed before a sheet of glass,
Boasting a preen of sugary gloss, attracting every eye to pass.
One’s a perfectly rounded sphere, glimmering red as a wild cherry,
Fresh from rolling in a slick puddle, of syrupy, melted strawberry.
The next, a favorite of the crowd, vaunting quite a handsome gleam,
Sluggishly dipped in churning caramel, surfacing coated in tawny cream.
Third in line, a pure gourmet, a sturdy chunk of brunette;
Rich chocolate specked with peanut crumbs, ever so carefully set.
A sister to the one before, cased in a vanilla shell,
Drizzled with fragile, mocha curves, posing proud and ready to sell.
The last, but most grand of all, shrouded in rainbow sprinkles,
Is placed in the sun, where passers can see the way its bright husk twinkles.
And yet, in this alluring row, many fail to perceive
That this enticing display of pricy desserts was only meant to deceive.
For under each of these glamorous masks, lies something not thought worthy of fame;
An apple, priced for its cover of sugar, but an apple just the same.
Their outer looks appear so varied, but they’re all the same inside;
A juicy mass of cushy white, resting under crimson hide.
The lesson of the candy apples should be one to never forget;
That what you see come forth in life isn’t always what you’ll get.