The last apricot in the
bowl,
Looks tired and dejected.
As soon as the speckles of
mould appear,
Into the bin, it’ll be
rejected.
You see, this little guy is
hard,
A tough nut to crack.
Twenty times it has been
squeezed,
And twenty times, put back.
It just will not soften and
that is why,
It’s left there alone to
rot.
Not bathed in ice cream or
muesli,
Nor lovingly poured into a
jam pot.
And all that energy from the
apricot tree,
Is destined to land in the
bin.
As the last apricot, defiant
to the end,
Is still hard but with
wrinkling skin.
