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Broken Record

My brother’s like a broken record.  He tells me about how we used to bike around the neighborhood pretending we were race car drivers, and how we’d gained multiple knee scrapes from turning the curb too fast. He’ll tell me this story twice, thrice, or even four times in a row, and laugh about the good ol’ days. I laugh with him, because though he doesn’t remember that he’s already told me this story for the fourth time in a row, he does remember the fun we had. My brother’s like a broken record, but I don’t mind one bit.

The Bear and the Apple Tree

Once, a bear found an apple tree

With apples gold and red.

He ate these apples eagerly

“This tree shall be mine,” he said.


Every day and every night

He watched his precious fruit

Scaring squirrels, birds, and other creatures

Who would dare steal his loot.


But as the days went on

His mouth became dry

And he yearned to drink water

From the river called Buckeye.


But he dared not leave his tree,

For he thought with displeasure,

That the greedy animals would steal

His delicious, fruity treasure.


So, he guarded the tree for a month,

Remaining in the same place

And soon, he slept forever

At the apple tree’s base.


A few weeks after

The bear’s eternal slumber

Squirrels, birds, and other animals

Ate the bear’s apple plunder.


The critters left apple cores

Lying on the ground.

Years later, seeds sprouted,

And more apple trees began to abound.


Now all the forest creatures had apples,

Even more than they needed,

Except for the bear who tried to hoard them all

And had not succeeded.

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