Ode to Pie


When I die I want to be buried in a pie,
Not just an ordinary pie, but an extraordinary pie.
One that has been made with your best flour, just finely ground, grown on high plains of North Dakota, tender with fresh leaf lard from Arkansas Berkshire hogs, and butter the offering of happy a Wisconsin Guernsey lady.
Let me rest quietly, I care not where is my pie.
In that serene delicious pie-Michigan cherries, Oregon pears, Hawaiian mangoes, Kentucky and Indiana paw paws, Texas pecans, Illinois pumpkins, California apricots and walnuts, and Georgia peanut butter and peaches.
Caressed by sweet Washington apples, Puerto Rico Pineapples, Arizona dates, New Mexico Hatch chilies, North Carolina strawberries, and Louisiana blackberries.
Enveloped by Maine blueberries, Wisconsin cranberries, Connecticut plums, Ohio Rhubarb, Idaho huckleberries, and Florida Key Limes.
I may need to be happy without some chocolate, kiwi fruit, oranges, sweet potatoes, custard eggs from Iowa or a shoo fly for my pie,
But you know they would be welcome in my pie.
If I know that I am in this pie for all eternity I,
Content for sure not alone in my pie.
I mostly plan to enjoy my company of new friends-lovely grubs, earthworms, crawlers, and wigglers alike and many.
We will have many a piece of pie together-no milk or coffee will we or I,
For sure all will love my pie as I do love my pie.
What more could a keeled over guy ask for inside his pie,
But to be buried in a my sweetly serene pie?
Not just an ordinary pie,
But an extraordinary pie.

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