Such little hands,
grasping for the apple
that hangs so recklessly
off the stem
daring the little hands
to pluck it
right off of it's mother tree

little hands
dirty like the ground
little like the pebbles
reaching like the tree limbs do
for the stars

the apple
hiding its seeded star inside
taunts the little hands
from its swing
swinging in the wind
off it's mother stem
admiring the shine of sun
on it's body
the hands reach and reach and reach
and reach

but still too little
Perhaps a jump,
No, it's no use
Such little hands
dropped to a little side
and the apple laughs
because the secret of it all
is that even the apple
will drop, someday