Bowline

In your mind you picture a meadow, with a little pond in the middle
A narrow path circles the water, clockwise it rounds the pond

Where the path meets, grows a tree, it roots deep down, you see
An apple drops from the tree, there within it lies the key

You never guessed, but a snake has a nest, deep down in a hole beneath the pond

It yearns knowledge, even a little would suffice, to make some sense to its days in this paradise

It hears the apple drop, deep down in its hole, the time has come for the snake to play its role

It slowly raises its head it knows its time is now
The snake is ready to go and take the final bow

As the serpent comes and reaches the bank, the wind dies and the canvas is blank

The adder, like the hour hand on a clock, slides on and over the thick rootstock

The apple awaits behind the tree, the snake opens its mouth slowly
The apple and everything that goes with it, is swallowed as a whole by the culprit

Ascended adder now with two feet, embodies the extent of the deceit

As it dives back to the pond you see, that his trail is now strangling the tree