The apple sits
helpless
and waits
and once its mates
have given it up as past it's best
once the rot sets in
and it starts to lose its ripeness
that's when the aroma rises
the fruit flies arrive in droves
and they feast on what's left
as the apple dreams
of pressed cider sisters
as the flies persist
in their feast
and it sits
at its core oblivious
of the fermenting opportunity missed