Apples have beautiful lives.
They grow politely on trees
like quiet urchins, knowing
all along they will be plucked.

Apples, like all vegetables,
smile when they are eaten,
knowing their Divine Spirit, the Deva,
will pass itself on to other trees.

And the process goes on eternally,
as if some patron of the arts
with mountains of money is in charge,
so the lowly apple seethes with

the energy of the cosmos, is eaten,
and then moves on, delighted to be,
to have been, a morsel for delight.