Before the serpent,
slithering in that tree,
hissed his seductive melody,
Adam and Eve would stumble
on its roots
as they strolled by,
listless in Eden,
listening to the syllabant whispers
in the leaves.

After its sweet apple
soured in their stomachs,
the trees leaves turned red,
a hint of something to come.

Those russet leaves the guilty pair
ripped from its branches
to conceal themselves
were first fruits in a
future of horrid harvests
sown by the Snakes suggestion.

And we, their children,
would yet reap what
the snake sought to sow,
but for bloods flow,
staining the Tree,
ancient by then,
hewn and crossed,
forgiving us,
kneeling below.