Upon a branch this fruit does lay,
Hanging over an azure bay.
Crowds gather around to see,
What this apple will end up to be.
The people know nothing at all,
Except that the apple is certain to fall.

Will it be pulled by gravity,
And drop calmly from that tree?
Or will it be knocked by a kid so round,
And be bruised by the cold hard ground?
How, the people can not call,
But the apple is certain to fall.

Will it fall to rot in the mud,
Until it appears to be a spud?
Or will the meadow be its destination,
Like a final peaceful vacation?
No one knows where, ‘cause it rolls like a ball,
But the apple is certain to fall.

Will it have an elongated life,
Free of any worry and strife?
Or will its fall be soon and abrupt,
For its life is so hopeless and corrupt?
It’s a mystery of when, from branches so tall,
But the apple is certain to fall.

So let us enjoy this fruit with love and care,
So no one mistakes it for a pear.
Its colors are magnificent,
So let’s embrace them before its decent.
For it doesn’t matter how big or how small.
All apples are certain to fall.