I loathe, abhor, detest, despise, <br />Abominate dried-apple pies. <br />I like good bread, I like good meat, <br />Or anything that's fit to eat; <br />But of all poor grub beneath the skies, <br />The poorest is dried apple pies. <br />Give me the toothache, or sore eyes, <br />But don't give me dried apple pies. <br />The farmer takes his gnarliest fruit, <br />'Tis wormy, bitter, and hard, to boot; <br />He leaves the hulls to make us cough, <br />And don't take half the peeling off. <br />Then on a dirty cord 'tis strung, <br />And in a garret window hung, <br />And there it serves as roost for flies, <br />Until it's made up into pies. <br />Tread on my corns, or tell me lies, <br />But don't pass me dried-apple pies. <br /> <br /> <br />>>Anonymous <br /> <br />-only submitted to this site by<br /><br />Shadigo Claws<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dried-apple-pies/
