The crabapple gives when his branches are woven
His apples are plucked because it's better to remain bare
And still, it branches out, even as November comes
His leaves are falling, and the apples are small
The crown he once wore, laying on the floor
The snow comes, and the crabapple is dead
And it's such a shame,
Because I know that the crabapple would have loved to see the beauty instead
But even though he's dead, and his heart lays on top
The crabapples branches are taken,
And woven into a crown like the one that he wore
Even in death, he carries the passion
Maybe now he can finally start acting
©keirabeech
K