Fresh Apple Pie

Mothers hands

Prepared it with

Grace and care

Fresh cut apples

Perfect crust

Aroma of spices

Fill small kitchen

The pie would bake

I would watch it

Cook through oven door

When golden brown

She pulled it out

Put in window sill to

Cool.

I kept it safe from

Invaders

Watched it like a hawk

Cinnamon and apple gold

Check stash vanilla ice cream

Is it ready yet?

No honey not yet

Pavlov’s dog had nothing on this

Knobby kneed ten year old

Is it ready yet?

Almost.

From cool window to table

Sharp knife slicing expertly

Out came the ice cream

For what is apple pie without the ala mode?

Big scoops on side of plate

Big appetite manners slip

Not two pieces sigh

Take only take one honey

Time for more later