Grandpa kept a wooden apple by his side,
Red and yellow, it split in two,
Offering candies, in colors of every hue.
He received the apple the day he took his bride.
On what fate now does the apple ride?
Cherished on a family table for to view,
Or decaying in a dump (to my rue)?
I havenít seen it since the day he died.
What lessons I have learned to bide,
Since those magical days of Grandpaís allure,
Iíve ventured out to temptations far and wide,
And did my best to surf the chaotic tide,
Till here I am with experiences both rich and poor,
But none as sweet as that initial appleís core.
Copyright © Christine (Minerd) Smith. Published with permission.