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nothing much in this world is sweeter than an apple you picked yourself nothing much more satisfying than teeth going crunch on sweet apple-flesh
We know the story starts “once upon a time.” Maybe not now because this story is mine. So, I was sitting in a tree, When a girl came to me.
Once upon a time in suburbia not far, there lived a middle aged women who lived on a hill.
The best apples Are too high to reach. The closest and easiest apples Are rotten and ugly and unhealthy. I do not have the strength
Heard it in the hallway, None knew it floated my way. They seem to stage whisper, In tones that are crisper. What they say is quite alarming And very much disarming. Why keep pretending?
Pass me an orange a slice of the East, Imperialism? not in the least. Pass me an apple rooted in the West,
Like little dropletsOf blood,Temptation dangles,
Why in the world would they call you an apple?! Are they blind?! They see you as a fruit, a word in conversations of farmers Demoted from a noun to an article,
I have tasted the sweetness of a fruit that no one has had the courage to expel. It is the fruit that with such flavor brought down the world and created the hell that burns us with its tongue of desire. Oh, to have a bite is a simple delight.