Within a garden of renown,
I found an ancient apple tree,
Its sturdy arms upheld to show
The autumn's hoard of ripened treasure.
Great pearls in rosy rinds hung down
On every hand. Above, with glee,
A robin sang. Tall grass below
Swayed lazily with fragile pleasure.
I looked upon the choicest fruit
And asked, "What is this prize I see?
A pretty thing to charm the eye?
A morsel made by necromancer?
A new experience to suit
I'm grateful that I did not die
When, tasting it, I found the answer.