I LOATHE, abhor, detest, despise, Abominate dried-apple pies. I like good bread, I like good meat, Or anything that's fit to eat; But of all poor grub beneath the skies, The poorest is dried apple pies. Give me the toothache, or sore eyes, But don't give me dried apple pies. The farmer takes his gnarliest fruit, 'Tis wormy, bitter, and hard, to boot; He leaves the hulls to make us cough, And don't take half the peeling off. Then on a dirty cord 'tis strung And in a garret window hung, And there it serves as roost for flies, Until it's made up into pies. Tread on my corns, or tell me lies, But don't pass me dried-apple pies. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PARAGRAPHS: 15 by HAYDEN CARRUTH SPRING BLIZZARD by JAMES GALVIN SYMPATHY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO MAY HOWARD JACKSON - SCULPTOR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON UNDER THE CEDARCROFT CHESTNUT by SIDNEY LANIER THE STARLING; SONNET by AMY LOWELL |