One hundred apples from an orchard,

Found in a suitcase by the side of the road.

Questions, asking oneself, whether to keep for oneself,

Or to call the police to report.

Understand the moral implications,

Always regarding oneself as a 'good' person.

Always conscious of causing undue distress to others.

Always conscious of others distressing others

Always conscious of relieving others distress.

Always conscious ...

Oh sweet satisfaction, apples, guaranteed.

Nutrition always needed,

And when not needed, desired,

My fruitful desire. 

And ... the money put away is always regarded as 'somewhat lacking'.

And ... the supermarket is too dear,

And too quick, my dear.

Quick, hide them there under the bed.

There they will never find them.

We won't be able to eat them all,

Before some have gone bad, my sweet,

But we can make a jolly good try.

But afterwards, time passes, and the apples are all gone,

And after, still,

Sitting still in the armchair,

Trying to concentrate on what's on.

Now the apples are eating away at me,

And you, my pomaceous rose.

And the trees are withered and bear no fruit.

And the man who tends them belongs to them no more.

My mind is now an orchard,

With a hundred apples missing.