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No More Apple Trees for Me

by

Suzanne Tyson

My friends and me, a total of three,

were out for a walk on a summer spree.

We were joking and playing as boys often do

when we spied something good. Something new.



We laughed and we pointed at what a great find.

This we agreed was like a gold mine.

There in the meadow was the greatest of trees.

Apples galore, and wonderfully free.



I opened my mouth in an attempt to impress

saying I could out climb the best of the best.

My friends all agreed this job was for me,

so I went over the fence to head for the tree.



I climbed that old tree with the greatest of ease,

and gathered the apples and didnít say please.

I zipped up my backpack and climbed to the ground.

When suddenly I noticed I had been found.



A big, black blur was running towards me.

It scared me so much, I couldnít climb the tree.

The blur was barking and running my way,

and it made me wonder if Iíd survive the day.



Then I was running with the dog right behind.

Out towards the barnyard in hopes I could find

a good place to hide my tender backside.

I was thinking please feet donít fail me now

Just as I passed a puzzled cow.



The dog was growling and baring his teeth.

Oh, no. Oh no. I best not be slow.

I ran through the chicken coop and the chickens did too.

Feathers were flying, and I thought about dying.



As I ran out the front door, the dog ran through the back,

and by this time, my nerves were terribly racked.

I prayed he would find a chicken a good meal,

but I looked behind me, and he was still on my heels.



I ran for the barn lickety split, and the dog was barking.

He was having a fit.

The hayloft looked high and good to me,

so I climbed the old ladder in hopes of safety.



I watched him approach. He crouched down like a hunter.

He sniffed the ground and all around.

The dog knew I was there, but he wasnít sure where.

And Iím sure he thought I wasnít playing fair.

I looked around me for some form of escape,

A window! A rope! After all, there is hope.

I stood and I peered at the ground far below,

and a voice then warned me donít be a dope.



I then heard the dog at the bottom of the ladder.

I had visions of my body torn and tattered.

Grabbing the rope with all of my being

I closed my eyes so I wouldnít be seeing.



My hands began burning and the sides of my thighs

as I slid down that old rope, and I knew I was too high.

My feet finally landed on good solid earth

and I took off running for all I was worth.



As I ran for the field to find my old friends,

I figured I fooled him and changed the old trend.

But the dog figured different, and he came bounding again,

and I turned back to the barnyard wondering when would it end.



That old dog, he chased me where I didnít want to be,

and I flipped over a fence, but I couldnít see.

I landed face down to a smell thatís not sweet,

and I stumbled and staggered to get to my feet.



The pig pen was noisy with squealing and grunting

The dog was still chasing, excited about hunting.

Deciding this was enough for me.

I ran for the field in my final flee.



The fence and my friends were close at hand

and they gave me a smile when my feet hit the sand.

Their noses upturned and they let out a howl

when their noses could smell me, a smell so foul.



My friends took their apples to eat under a tree,

and I found a tree, one for just me.

They insisted my tree be one of downwind

for they told me my odor was close to being a sin.



By the time we were done, my stomach was queasy,

my head, it was reeling, and I knew I was feeling

the green from the apples I had just ate,

and I headed for home, so I wouldnít be late.



My mother was waiting and, boy, she was mad.

No room for excuses. She knew Iíd been bad.

She yelled and she hollered, and grounded me good.

I took me a shower. I knew that I should.



I slithered to the dinner table although my belly said no,

and my mother smiled Ďcause I felt so low.

She began to serve dishes one by one,

and each one I saw made me shiver and shun.



Apples! Apples! Pancakes, in muffins and of course in the butter.

She spread on the table. Oh dear Mother!

The worst blow she gave me and I could have died

was the apples she cooked in a big apple pie.



My mother she grinned and her words came so sweet.

"The farmer dropped by with his dog and these treats."

My mother, she laughed, then roared from her joke.

And I had to laugh too, for the way she had poked.

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