It was the top of the hour

as midnight struck its last hour

it turned the bright red apple sour.

There it lay in the darkness of the day

floating onward toward the bay

 aloft with the wispers of the sunray 

which shines through the tree tower

juiced with power, until the very end 

when the branch will break and bend

underneath the brown decaying bark

back into the dark,

my apple of red and sour

 had depart.