Revisionist Poetry – The Apple Tree, v.4

Schooltime in early autumn
the playground is full but
the out-of-bounds field calls, more tempting.

The field bristles with burrs,
yet the apple tree remains irresistible

We race to be kings on the age-old tree
claiming crowns from the highest branches

Power is kept in an arsenal of apples
all glossy, ripe, but oddly inedible.

Old ogres and crones patrol and scare some off
but the boldest cannot give up the fun.

Only the sirens can call down the kings of fun
but they cannot steal the joy of the apple tree.