The Fall

It seems as though my reaching for an apple on this tree,

Has led me right up to the branch from which she watches me.

She taunts me in her stillness, her color makes me blush,

Her goldenrod complexion bids my amber fervor hush.

My footing slowly slips from the orchard's wisest tree,

My hands are pulled by the jealous ground in light of glimpsing thee,

I fall then into the greedy arms of the mighty envy green,

And hope one day he reaches you, that you too might fall to me.