Apples

A thousand poems in my head

Keeping me awake in bed

Which one should I write?

A thousand apples in my head

Which one should I bite?

Not the rotten ones!

But they too are a part of me

And if I am indeed a tree

It is not for me to choose

I must carry them all

Ripe, rotten, big and small

Some will be plucked

Others will fall

But the tree doesn't care

All it does

Is bear fruit