A lonely woman stands in the distance
As the apple of her eye is perusing the apples
That sit on display outside the market
She watches her apple grab a basket

This woman waits in the cold February breezes
To catch her forbidden fruit emerge
When said apple steps outside
Her heart pulls her like a toddler to follow

As her eyes focus on her beloved subject
Her feet begin to pace in slow motion
The subject so far away now like in a tunnel
Her mind interjects with words that hurt

Leave that apple hanging on the tree
Along with its happy family
Pick not what isn't yours and never was
Return to your own empty branches
Where you shall hang alone