The Fallen Apple

I hung by my mother tree:
Laughing, playing, taunting the birds
With my brothers and sisters,
The sun singing in mirth and glee.
But one day, I don't know why,
Mother, her hand let go of mine.
That day, I fell from the sky,
When mother's hand let go of mine.
For days the earth spoke to me
With tales of those who've gone before,
How, like them, I must depart
To be in him and cease to be.
The day came and I was dry,
Thinking of mother and our time,
And that how now I must die,
When mother's hand let go of mine.