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Ode to The Apple

Oh Mr Mac I love you more than most other apples.

Your rosy red skin with subtle green shadows

suggests a succulent, saliva inducing sensation,

One that comes from the Canadian nation

for three months, or up to four.

You’re on the shelves of supermarkets in bags of four

Why four? Why not six or sold separately?

One is plenty for that poor little lady;

the pensioner with a paltry pension

Her worries are far too many to mention

But back to the beautiful Mr Mac.

I enjoy eating you, every single bite.

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