Perhaps I am just beginning.
Perhaps,
I am just born.
Perhaps the sapling in the back and I,
are circulating the same.

You see,
that apple tree over the hill,
through the woods,
bloomed at grandmother's for a reason.
But her pie,
of the sweetest scent
is upon my table.

Ma'am picked her,
while she was just about ripe.
Taking what was most precious.
Maybe it was for the best.
Maybe,
we were only to benefit.

She took what was precious to me.
I couldn't quite imagine
my life without an answer.