The garden is small.

It has two apple trees.

They give fruits every fall.

Lovely Flemish green apples.

The trees grew so tall.

We shall wait apples to fall.

One by one they fall

on the wet autumn leaves.

Fallen apples are always ripe,

ready, sweet and crisp.

They fall when no one is watching.

I dream to hear, the sound of

an apple coming off a brunch,

hitting the soil,

bouncing and rolling,

till rain comes to wash it clean.

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