American Poem by JHP Poetry

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.
However, that wasn't enough to satisfy.
To make me feel like I had been given
a part of the Dream. But, it is only a
dream is what it is called. So why
expect much more? Still, there is a quiet
storm that melts the sugar. And then
I forget the main ingredients.
I shall make my pie from spices
that has not been added. At least my tummy
will be full. For I shall not covet.