He was an apple, and she was an apple,
And they hung on an old brown tree.
And a fonder little couple
I think you never would see.
But alas! This little couple,
They could not contented be.
"I should like to travel," she whispered.
"I wish that we could," said he.
But the summer went by so quickly,
And they still hung there on the tree;
For people can't always travel,
And apples are apples, you see.
And they sighed and they groaned and grumbled
At the home that they once loved well,
Till there came a great wind through the orchard,
And down on the ground they fell.
"Oh, dear, what a bump!" she whispered.
"I'm bruised all over," said he.
But if people at home won't tarry,
They must get a few bumps, you see.
Then they found themselves put in a basket.
"We're off to the world," said she.
"I wish we were back in the orchard
"If this is the world," said he.
And then this poor little couple
Were put in a dark big pie.
"Oh, love," sighed the wife to her husband.
"I think we are going to die."
And the oven grew hotter and hotter,
And they died with a dream of home.
"Why didn't we stay in the orchard?
"Oh, why did we want to roam?"