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Apples


We picked apples, Uncle and me,
Balanced there in his apple tree.

I thought we were up so high
I could catch the pigeons flying by.

I was three, maybe four
Certainly not any more.

Later on when, I grew tall
I knew we weren't so high at all.

But we picked apples, Uncle and me,
Balanced there in his apple tree.

I thought we were up so high
I could touch and stroke the sky.








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