I hear the tree It’s whispering, “Pick me, Pick me…” But the Apple is not pretty; It is vile. I walk away--- Afraid of the tree That is now screaming--- I want nothing to do with that Black Apple, Though others might. I just want to spend time in the flowers, Flitting about, Taking in the sweet scent Of the daisies and daffodils, Who sing instead of scream--- But the Black Apple tree only barks louder. I scamper farther away... I think, I don’t even like Apples, Why must the tree yell so loud? Yet the tree only releases A more deafening roar--- And suddenly, before me, Is another Black Apple tree. I scream, The Apple cackles, And a python unfurls from the tree. The Snake will trap me, I think. I sprint faster, Breathe harder, And bound over rocks and stone. That Black Apple won’t catch me! But when my breathing becomes labored, I stop and look down--- I realize I have trampled the daisies And the black apple tree Was only part of a mere Dream.