Benath the apple tree I see, a many memories

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I sit beneath the apple tree
looking up the stump up at the leaves
each leaf a different memory

From when Dan and I
would climb the heavily branched tree

To the swing Matt and I put up
warm evings spent swing watchinf fireflies flit about

When Dad and I would pick the apples
to feed to the cows
whose rough tongues would scrape your hands

How Mom would mash up the good parts
to make into apple butter

The rotten apples Matt and I picked up
we made $50 each

Each bird that sits in that tree
chirps of a happy memory





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