A desperate tree in our churchyard in Nekoosa produces a few apples each year. Here’s part of this year’s crop.

And I wake up in the mornin’
With my hair down in my eyes and she says “Hi”
And I stumble to the breakfast table
While the kids are goin’ off to school…goodbye
And she reaches out ‘n’ takes my hand
And squeezes it ‘n’ says “How ya feelin’, hon?”
And I look across at smilin’ lips
That warm my heart and see my mornin’ sun

And if that’s not lovin’ me
Then all I’ve got to say
God didn’t make little green apples
And it don’t rain in Indianapolis in the summertime
And there’s no such thing as Doctor Seuss
Or Disneyland, and Mother Goose, no nursery rhyme
God didn’t make little green apples
And it don’t rain in Indianapolis in the summertime
And when my self is feelin’ low
I think about her face aglow and ease my mind

Bobby Russell wrote the lyrics, sung by O.C. Smith and others