Forbidden Fruit

O sweet little fruit, hanging low
Tempting me with your fresh glow
You stand out amongst all fruits
I want to pluck you from your roots

Good sense tells me to steer away
But I try to pluck you every day

You hang there, tantalizingly close
Bring cheer to me, repel my woes
To grab you I reach out my hand
In vain, as I sink into quicksand

Outside

Circles etched on the playing field
Some intersecting, several isolated
Some with thick circumferences
Some faintly visible lines

Dots scattered on the playing field
Some in the intersection of several circles
Some encircled by merely one
And some with none

Dots moving vibrantly
Closing in on one another
Some moving away
And some on the outside
Lost for words to say