I stole an apple, ripe and red,
?hanging on my neighbors tree.
?Hell never miss just one, I said,
?and ate it up. Then, fat and fed,
?I licked my sticky hands and fled,
?smug and conscience-free.
But as I quit the neighborhood,
?a thief, whod seen my larceny,
?back-traced my steps through field and wood,
?and coming on the small abode
?where all my worldly goods were stored,
?took what belonged to me.
Does nothing sacrosanct remain?
?No fellowship? No hidden line?
?No code of honor in the grain
?to make another thief refrain
?from poaching in this thiefs terrain?
?Thats wrong! Whats mine is mine!