"the apples stay out all night ..."

The apples stay out all night in their gigantic pens

with the snow off the picnic table he knocks the visage to the floor

previewed oddities they will buy now if I sell low

when I am about to give up and ask the ape for help I sight the singer I am looking for


warmed by their juices they rustle before dawn

then picks it up, kisses it, saying, "isn't it warmer, love, now?"

but my quirks are betrothed to the daughter of Mr Stephen Fowler

I carry him in my pocket all day, then wake you with his digitally-mastered evensong