Welcome to the apple orchard;
We come here every fall.
Last year I was so tiny
I could not pick at all.

Last year I watched from my stroller,
Oh, sure, they checked on me;
I could only reach apples on the ground -
But wanted those from the tree!

This year Mommy dressed me up;
Said I could choose my own.
This year I'm having lots more fun,
I'm oh-so-glad I've grown!

The apples I can reach now
Are firm and red and round,
Just ever so much nicer than
Those lying on the ground!

I've picked two for applesauce,
And three to make a pie.
We know what to do with apples,
My Mom, my Dad, and I!

I see lots more pretty apples,
And though I hesitate to ask it,
I wish instead of this little one,
I had a big-as-Daddy's basket!

But I guess I'll wait 'til next year,
When I've grown even taller,
To pick those beauties higher up.
Oh, then you'll hear me holler!

Next year I'll be 'bout eleben feet tall;
And the pick-of-the-crop will be mine!
Next year I'll be able to reach them all,
I'll pick Mommy's, and Daddy's, AND mine!

I hope to see you here next year
I know we're coming back for sure;
Mom says you bet we'll have more fun yet,
As these apple trees and I mature!

© 2001 Peggy Swycaffer