Prince Pompom

Beneath a Fruitful Apple Tree
Sate Pompom, youth of high degree,
And Prince of Apple-Tartary;
While in the branches overhead
The apples blushed with rapture red,
As from a great book on his knees
He read of the Hesperides,
And how, to win the apples gold,
One Hercules, a Hero bold,
A hundred-headed Dragon shew.
“How brave! How wonderful! How true!”
Exclaimed the apples, flushed and red.
“That proves what we have always said:
We come of Ancient Pedigree!
We’re of the Applestocracy!
Our title cannot be denied.”
Whereat they swelled and swelled with Pride
Until their High and Mighty Air
Was more than Apple Tree could bear.
“Come!” cried the Tree, “you must vacate
My boughs—they will not bear your weight!”
Pride goes before a fall.
Alas!
Next morning, prone upon the grass,
Blushing for shame, the Apples lay,
And when Queen Pompom passed that way
She picked them up, and by and by
She made them into Apple Pie.