Yellow apples in a basket sigh
from the wavering branch they crave—
accepting their fall, the reverse of fly.

Their farmer worked like any guy
unwrapping his windy orchard maze
'til yellow apples in a basket sighed.

In a crispy flannel, he never once shied
from the wobbly ladder, then turned grave,
accepting his fall, the reverse of fly.

Weakly, he awoke with a wealthy supply
of bleeding organs & a swelling nave,
while the yellow apples in his basket sighed.

He released his fist and let go a cry,
rehearsing the way that men behave,
accepting their fall, the reverse of fly.

Today, he will touch branches on high,
up from the rungs that death supplies,
while yellow apples in a basket sigh,
accepting the fall, the reverse of fly.