Turnips and Apples – a poem

A poem I wrote, in my songwriting days of yore. Witches and god-like powers and apples (for dooking) and turnips (for neepie lanterns) – it seems like a not bad time to publish this.

take the turnips from the branches
plant them down and watch them up
bending from the boughs seems odd now
covered with dirt seems better now
ugly, knurled like witches’ skin
your eyes and mine should not have seen
so I decree put them in the floor
so they can live their forever more

the apple buried in the dirt
    too nice, pink and bright
put up upon the branch
    of the barren turnip tree

when the plants were all invented
some of them were mistakes indeed
if they’re up high infront of eyes
why are they such we don’t want to see?
perhaps there was some method
to the madness as was seen
so then I took it on me
to make things right as they should be

now the apple in the sky
    utility down away from eyes
for what need but not desire
    for worms, perhaps and eating only

the sun used to shine only at night
like a street lamp in the fog
the day was misty dull and grey
with dim light all around but where from?
the sun must rise in morning hence
light this dismal place
give it more hydrogen fuel
so its warmth can reach through space

now we all can see
    when our eyes requires
day and night forever split
    behold the great glowing fire

it is not with jest these changes
I placed upon the modern man
light to see and beauty in trees
darkness for the rest of them
take the fodder from the garden
marvel in the sunny light
eat and be well, jewels atwinkle
from this day until darkness nigh

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