There is nothing like the sweetness of an apple.
It is not cloying like chocolate,
strong like honey,
or sharp like wine.
Crisp and light, it sings on the tongue,
and that song is the name of its Maker.
Pomona, fair one, rosy-cheeked,
fed on sunlight and sweet rain,
Your kindness in sharing your gift
with us is beyond compare.
Each bite announces itself with a crunch,
proof of its goodness and firmness,
and the further goods we make from your gift
–juice, cider, pastry–
feed us and quench our thirst throughout the year.
In thanks we praise your name,
in reverence we sing of your glory,
and in gratitude we ask only to be permitted
to partake of your gifts so long as we may live.