The apples were hanging so ripe on the trees,
We went out to pick them, and what did we see?
Hundreds of cowflaps around on the ground,
When the apples fell in them, they made quite a sound!
The poor tree was shaken 'til the last apples dropped,
And into a grainbag they quickly were popped.
The good and the bad, the wormy and bruised,
We weren't very fussy 'bout the apples we used.
We hauled all the apples to Grandpa's front lawn,
He said, "You'll be working from now until dawn!"
From the barn, we dug out the old cider press,
It was covered with cobwebs and was really a mess.
The apples were ground, they were squeezed, they were pressed.
A worm here and there, but you wouldn't have guessed.
After we finished, we all took a rest
And declared that our cider was surely the best!
-- Lisa G. Harriman