Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree.Martin LutherGreen Orbs of white flesh And syrupy sweet tart juiceWrapped in polka-dotted green Sunshine. Apples, apples, applesHanging ripe—ready to be picked Stems twisted and plucked So firm and real in my hand So imperfectly perfect Apples.

The path of the righteous is like the morning sun, shining ever brighter till the full light of day. Proverbs 4:18 The sun's so bright in AugustThe sunflowers nod their headsGroggy–sleepy–warmBy noon.The sun with rays like primaryYellow strokes on a child's paintingBold–golden–richBy God.Is copied by this blossomA sun on each stem–full facedBoisterous–beautiful–lovedBy me. 

Stylin' in ArkansasTaking a Sunday afternoon driveGoing nowhere particularCruisin' Main; feeling free.Rollin' down the highway Following a dreamSeeking my fortuneRockin' to my tunes.