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.