An Apple fell far from its tree
Thought that would somehow set it free

It willed to go where no apple went
No persuasion would let its volition dent

It rolled past the grove into the meadow
Tall was the grass and dark was its shadow

Alone was the Apple but scared not
It crossed the meadow into the desert hot

Its skin scalded yet its soul leapt
Crossed four seas and many lands it slept

Then came a time when the tree beckoned
I should go visit my grove, the Apple reckoned

Upon the grove its heart bled seeing the tree
For t’was now the tree’s turn to be free.