The Poetry Bar

By Their Fruit…

Bent and twisted apple tree
planted out in a back yard;
hardly any branch grew straight.

So many criticized its deficits
as it was growing from a sapling;
few wanted to give it a chance.

Yet the leaves never cared;
they budded and opened,
cloaking its form in green.

The blossoms didn’t complain;
just sprang forth in profusion
to brighten days in spring.

The apples were not choosy
and grew where they were set,
becoming red and beautiful.

The flavor of those apples,
like nothing else around,
made many a critic forget.

My name is Michael Williams, and I am a quadriplegic. My blog is:


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