Humourous poetry

The Cider Apple's Lament

The Cider Apple’s Lament

I detest being called a crab,

I never sank so low.

In all of the Pomona

Only I am worthy to know.

I grew among my peers,

In my ancestral domain.

A perfect rosy cheeked specimen,

Far above any hop or grain.

I blossomed early and developed late,

So the ladies all call me sweet.

And those who imbibe with me

Fall worshipping at my feet

So give me the hearty wassail

And for my passing do not lament

For I am consumed with joy,

 After a long and dark ferment.