Apple pie was promised to me.
As a kid, my eyes were filled with glee;
I could not wait for my slice.
Crumbled Dutch was my favorite.
The sweet smell of cinnamon and
brown sugar was enough to make a
dry mouth water.
I humbly ate a slice.
And at that moment, I felt American.
American as apple pie....
By Jessica Hughes © 2009
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem