Apples for Charlotte

My apples lie in the fridge, untouched, left without,

Their sour bite too sharp, my broken tooth’s old doubt.

The hardest ones, so crisp, bring pain I used to know,

Yet hold a taste of joy, from days so long ago.

I grab the bag of apples, set them in my car,

No plans to roam today, yet still I travel far.

Through evening’s glow I drive, the bridge rises near,

I stop at bridge’s ramp, where dusk and grass draw near.

A family waits in quiet, their presence draws me nigh,

The buck stands firm and watchful, his gaze a steady eye.

The doe grazes gently, calm in the grassy lawn,

The youngest bounds in comfort, typical for a fawn.

A yearling, bright with wonder, trots a happy pace,

Her eyes catch another’s, a stranger’s youthful face.

No kin, this other yearling, a bold and curious male,

He steps toward her lightly, her heart begins to sail.

I reach for one small apple, once mine, I now bestow,

For her to share, to offer, where tender feelings grow.

“Here, take this gift,” I call, and toss it to the ground,

The buck stays still, the doe looks up, at peace, without a sound.

The yearling darts forward, her glance at him is shy,

She nudges the apple near him, their necks brush soft and spry.

He takes it, drops it, playful, then lifts it once again,

Their gentle dance of sharing weaves joy through evening’s glen.

I toss another apple, she leaps to claim it fast,

Her eyes seek his, a moment, a bond that’s meant to last.

The fawn, in youthful clamor, ignores the tender scene,

While doe eats soft, and buck stands guard, his gaze serene.

I spill the bag’s last apples, they tumble on the grass,

The yearlings share their bounty, as quiet moments pass.

Perched within my silent car, my heart with light imbued,

I, with the buck and doe look on, at play so gently wooed.