At
first
he said
he wouldn't
share the fruit he'd saved
and hidden in the woolen warmth
of his scarf and gloves. He didn't feel like being kind
helping others past the troubles
we all hold, but when
we hastened
down the
road
and
finding
deep pot holes
in the clotting dusk
we realized we had to trust
and looked each other in the eye. He smiled and softly
took my hand, and shyly offered
a red apple from
the pocket
of his
old
coat