This Sunday, I will be baking an apple pie for a birthday dinner and it has been on my mind. I love to cook and bake, and I LOVE apple pie, so I wrote a Pindaric ode to it. Odes are generally written about prestigious people or events and pie is pretty darned common, but so what.
Ode to an Apple Pie
|mmmmm- wikimedia commons ftw|
Ethereally scented, wafting joy
of golden crust in patty pan
to play decoy
for homemade filling, bereft of can.
Placed for knife, and fork, and tooth to destroy
upon eight plates set before those who would
gnash apart tender flaky flesh
-once warm and fresh,
hurries to its doom willingly as all pies should.
Oh yeah. I forgot about yesterday. Sorry.