Apple Tree

An extension of yourself
Boy hands out roses in the backyard
His food in the fryer
His house is on fire
All his teeth grew the wrong way in
Won’t smile, but he’s laughing
Daffodils over guns
He spoke to them as if they were his sons
And boy, were they pretty
He couldn’t be pretty
If he was found out, they’d be cut down
Cut down in the fields as he fought in the streets
And laid in the ground, below the poppies
If you had all that you wanted
If it ever could be so easy
If you were to die tomorrow
Would you still plant your apple tree?
The wound of a war
You never fought
Or even asked for
An extension of yourself
An extension of yourself
An extension of yourself
An extension of yourself