THE APPLE TREE

The apple sapling was planted,

From the very beginning,

Looked after and cared for,

By the farmers.

 

The farmers worked for them,

Day and night,

Like they were their own child.

 

When they should have reaped the fruits,

For every drop of their precious blood, sweat and tears,

The sweet, luscious, red red apple,

Were plucked away,

By the industrialists.

 

The bad apples were,

Left to the poor farmers,

As a token of utmost gratitude,

So the others would not say,

They were cruel or unfair.

 

The farmers whatsoever,

Kept working and working,

On and for their fields,

Till they died,

And turned their fields healthier,

Worried to be of some use,

Even then.