The odour of an apple pie.
Fresh baked and set aside to cool.
Would tempt a stronger soul than I
to discard sense and play the fool.
Beneath that crisp and golden crust
there lie stewed apples rich and sweet.
Arousing a small boy’s greedy lust.
My mother is nobody’s fool
she knew just what I hand in mind
and well before I broke the rule,
She took a switch to my behind.
It was my turn I had to learn
though mother’s kind she can be stern.
4-Sep-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
Once again, very nicely put and evocative, Ivor! Best Wishes
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A delightful read Ivor! Sweet as - apple pie! ! *10*! ! Best wishes! Friend Thad