Rotten Apple (A Poem)

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I have a rotten apple in my hand. Why it is there, I can't understand. It's mushy and very soft. It must never enter my lips. It's not useful to hold any longer. Out of my hands it must slip. Now the rotten apple is on the ground. I walk away from it. Please don't hand it back to me. You can have it, core and pit. Rotten apples aren't to be eaten. They need to be left alone. The next time you see a rotten apple, Take it to the old rotten apple's home.