by Don Nixon

Tempted, she walked beneath the garden trees,
Heavy with fruit in the late summer heat.
Some had fallen, ripe oozing at her feet,
Their sweetness calling to soft bellied bees.
She marvelled at their varied russet hues
And gently touched a gleaming wax red skin.
Could anything so perfect be a sin
To taste? Her longing for the apple grew.
Hissed whispered urgings made her now believe
This garden was created for delight.
The apple shimmered, tempting, glistening bright,
Forever now our legacy from Eve.
So orchards trail a glimpse of paradise,
Their luscious fruit the apple of our eyes.

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