Thousands of miles away
You are still an apple of your sun
Harvested by our land
United, you do not belong
Terror rings across
Makes our branches shiver
Lightning seems to follow you
Strikes those around
Find refuge beneath our leaves
Too bare for shelter
Need to protect our own
Rotten to the core
Spread your seed across
No room no room
Your sun-kissed skin
Does not reflect our sun
Back across you go
Rotten apple to the core
Drops are for the thirsty
Roots need room to grow
A color mis matched
Pluck yourself from your home
An ocean brings distance
No terror when you’re gone
If lightning strikes
We will strike you
Little apple when you shiver
Find refuge in your soil-less soil
You are the reason
Terror falls from above
Struck, your trees are the cause
You never fall too far
Little apple Little apple
You must be rotten to the core
Little apple Little apple
You must go
And there Little apple goes
Poor man struck —or so they say
Ouch! Light bursts in his head
And thereafter we got gravity!
I like your poems, keep writing!