So far out in the West
is an enormous yellow tree
Plump oranges hanging and drooping from their branches
Juicy, fresh and tender they are as the sun shines on them
So much is the sun it matures them too
So fertile is the soil it firms the tree
It flourishes
Just as a tree should;
On the bottom is a once mighty tree
A fallen apple tree
Its fruits are identical, wrinkled and rotten to the seeds
So fiery as is the sun, it burns them to zilch
Nothing lives here
Living is futile