Poisoned Apples

There was once a tree,

In a land far, far away—

’Twas the only salvation

For smaller plants and animals.

This tree was golden planted,

Loved by all who took its shade—

But there was a wolf who didn’t,

He couldn’t stand its importance.

The wolf once decided to pray,

In this land far, far away,

For a wish he wished—

He wished it would go away.

For days on, he prayed and prayed,

And prayed and prayed and prayed.

One fine day, a flower bloomed,

Among the leaves of the trees splayed,

Another day and in the midst of the leaves—

A red apple appeared bright as day.

The first to spot this apple was a giraffe,

Who was so delighted to see it,

She decided to drop it down for her son to have.

So, she reached her neck wide and long,

But, instead of plucking it up, bit it down,

And silently she swayed in the morning skies,

Landing heavily in the grass beside—

A life the tree claimed that day.

Now, the other animals were all afraid,

They knew at once the tree turned on them,

Hither-skitter they all fled—

All left behind were the dead.

The wolf watched this from afar,

‘Ah, what a sight to behold,’ he thought,

‘All I wanted was to see a frown,

But now, I got to see them drown.

Thanks to the poisoned apples on this tree,

Now, nobody shall claim thee—

It’s all for me!’

Thus rejoicing, the wolf skipped,

And skipped and skipped and skipped;

Upon reaching the space that emptied,

It jumped up and danced in joy.

“Poisoned apples, heavens pray!

Poisoned apples, heavens spray!

Now, I know there is a god,

Who listens to my every word!”

Thus saying, the wolf pranced away,

A happy smile adorning his ghastly face.