He looked down at the woman,
Blind and homeless at the crossroads.
“I said, ‘Excuse me, sir.’
But are there apples in the trees?
Stars twinklin’ in the skies?”
“That thought’s just a wish;
You know that as well as I.”
“Will you send me an apple,
When they’re pulled from the trees?”
“If only I could,
I would bring one myself.”
Stars twinkled in her eyes.
Years later, she died.
He happened by the crossroads,
Suit now battered and torn.
He buried a word, a memory.
And from that page, it grew.
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