The apple sat for eíer so long
Upon the stand beside my bed;
It was so bright and smooth its skin:
No prettier fruit there could have been
There was within my lovely fruit
A beauty that none other had,
For I received this lovely fruit
A gift and treasure from my Lord.
As days slipped by, I watched my fruit
And thought what trust was placed in me;
Then one by one the years sped by
While from my fruit, Time took his toll.
When those who call themselves my friends
Beheld my withered fruit and saw
The grooves within its once taut skin,
The pretty luster gone, they said:
Why do you keep this withered fruit?
Why, canít you see itís useless now?
Another one will do just fine.
A pretty one, just throw this out.
But as I thought upon their words,
I looked upon my withered fruit
And saw the mark the Master left,
The beauty there, I kept my fruit.
©James Garner June 1987