Apple Pie. Poem by Harold R Hunt Sr

Apple Pie.



Apple Pie.
I wake to such a clatter.I did not know exactly what was a matter.
I smelled something sweet to my noise. So I put on some close.
I ran to the kitchen and almost tripped on a pan just to find out what it was.
There she stood with a knife in hand cutting something without a bother.
The smell was great I knew that it was a treat that could not be beat.
There on the window ledge was to apple pies.
So golden brown.I soon had a frown.
I heard mom say none to supper time.
Oh, I can't wait for those apple pies

Tuesday, October 21, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: apple
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