Past a field 'hind the barn, in a tree and up high,
Johnny Apple did live, on a bough near the sky,
With his Mom and friend, Kung' Chree, who also hung nigh.

Oft Miss Breeze softly rustled his leaves and would sigh
"Ah, be good, sweet-tart John, e'en when things go awry,"
And to this he'd respond that at least he would try.

Now the fanner one day, to the apple o' his eye,
Mentioned how much he'd love a freshly baked pie;
So, with bucket, wife Bess, on a quest for her guy,
Set out back of the bam to that tree through tall rye.

She plucked apples till near the pail's brim they did lie,
"Hmm, just one more I need, but I see none, oh, fie!"
But just then, far, far up, three red rounds Bess did spy.

Now this lady, determined, though stout and not spry,
Ran to leap, alas, slipped, so fell fruitless to lie;
But when getting back up, all at once she looked sly,
Grabbed and broke off a limb, swung it up with a cry.

As the stick swished by close, Mom and Kung' yelled "Oh, my!"
And, though higher, Johnny Apple see'd how he might vie:
First, to rock back and forth, all his strength he did ply,
Then, to break loose his stem, 'gainst the branch he did pry
Until, snap, he was free and to Bess bent did fly.

So now, please join in, for one core-felt goodbye
To Johnny "Good" Apple, who truly did die
For Mother and Kung' Chree--and, of course, apple pie.
 

Terence Anthony, M.D., Ph.D.
Associate Professor SIU-SOM
Third Place for Poetry