Sweet Macoun

There is an apple that ripens
Unveils a splotch of green,
It's the life in it that frightens,
It weaves without a seam,
Sucking like a siphon,
Even gravity has its schemes,
Through a speckled shadow it falls,
Dancing on beams,
Worried its quirky twist is a sin
In streams of light it gleams
It spins, gets taken by the wind,
Scared by grass that looks like pins,
It'll aim for the leaves.
No matter where it hits the turf
It'll fall among the trees
Even if the landing hurts
Its roll settles into dreams.