The apple,
that fruit that hit Newton on the head,
The apple,
that fruit that is so unbelievably red,
it reminds me of Cordova - CHS
reminds me of the dear friends I've left.
Now there's one particular friend--
one crazy soul to compliment mine,
and I've not seen her in such a long time...
but hey!
This is where the apple comes in again,
it's on a spit,
sizzling and crackling, over a dancing flame.
That dance is how a friendship came to be.
Kinda neat, though I know it's hard to see.
and the apple,
even after it's smoldering waltz,
is still red
and it can still surely bruise Sir Issac's head.
but now,
the once soft skin,
the membrane encompassing the juices within,
is not so smooth, or thin.
Is a roasted apple still the same?
It sort of reeks of only
smoke and ash.
The once gentle crisp
now has a lisp.
Oh! The apple's speech is impaired!
Now, the skin is leather, a diminished red,
it resembles something like the top of a cowboy's head--
Now, the fresh crackles are gone -
the apple is dead.
The smell of sweet spring no longer exists--
and yet,
science,
still persists.
Cindy and I -
in compliance
murdered an apple
in the name of science.
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