Raisin Pie

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Title:     Raisin Pie
Author: Edgar A. Guest [More Titles by Guest]

  There's a heap of pent-up goodness in the yellow
     bantam corn,
  And I sort o' like to linger round a berry patch
     at morn;
  Oh, the Lord has set our table with a stock o'
     things to eat
  An' there's just enough o' bitter in the blend
     to cut the sweet,
  But I run the whole list over, an' it seems
     somehow that I
  Find the keenest sort o' pleasure in a chunk
     o' raisin pie.
  There are pies that start the water circulatin' in
     the mouth;
  There are pies that wear the flavor of the warm
     an' sunny south;
  Some with oriental spices spur the drowsy appetite
  An' just fill a fellow's being with a thrill o'
     real delight;
  But for downright solid goodness that comes
     drippin' from the sky
  There is nothing quite the equal of a chunk o'
     raisin pie.
  I'm admittin' tastes are diff'runt, I'm not settin'
     up myself
  As the judge an' final critic of the good things
     on the shelf.
  I'm sort o' payin' tribute to a simple joy on
     earth,
  Sort o' feebly testifyin' to its lasting charm an'
     worth,
  An' I'll hold to this conclusion till it comes my
      time to die,
  That there's no dessert that's finer than a chunk
     o' raisin pie.

[The end]
Edgar A. Guest's poem: Raisin Pie

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