Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! I won't be around for the rest of the week because I'll be too hopped up on turkey and pie to bother writing in my blog. Thanksgiving is a major holiday in our family: we usually have 20-25 people on Thursday, then close to 30 on Friday. We do not know the meaning of "leftover turkey," and we love our pie. So here is a very poor ode celebrating a very tasty dessert:
O cherry, pumpkin, apple, peach!
I will have a slice of each.
And berry pies (of black
and blue) I shall not lack
Tho' some may blanch, I think I'll try
A mÃxed rhubarb apple pie*
I really love pecan
(So does the whole damn clan)
Two crusts, or pie with none on top
When eating pie, I cannot stop!
A pie that's a la mode
Could merit its own ode
And coconut, banana cream?
I'm only eating in my dreams
(And neither is there orange;
'cause nothing rhymes with orange!)
Of every pie I'll have a slice
Fourteen kinds; that should suffice
(at least for the first day;
don't worry what you weigh!)
And when the pastry's all devoured
And the plates have all been scoured
I'll burp a fond good-bye
And dream of Christmas pie
Have a great holiday, everyone!
*Not really. Rhubarb={shudder}. But it's called poetic license for a reason.
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Well, numbers 40 and 41 are in the oven as I type, so I guess you (and the rest of us) have our work cut out.
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