I dream of an apple that comes in many varieties
One so diverse it can only be spoken of in gutteral movements
So loud it can hardly be swallowed
And so vivacious that even clowns turn their heads and stare.
And when this apple has bent down low,
A bounty shall follow as nectar flow
Fruitful seeds spread in spring rains
Cracking open splendor of new mirth;
Of each crunchy bite
A heart of gold emerges
Pallette of sacred union
As a cider by the fire.