Cutting butter into sifted flour measured by feel,
Baker envies the muse on card 3 by 5.
Channeling a homesteader’s lost culinary skill,
Hands move anxious with a primal drive.
Deftly rolling to line a geometric design.
Bursting with promise, fresh fruit with no flaw.
Hand full of spice no need for red wine
Marry to sweetness as pure as spring thaw.
Heating the wonder of nature’s pure gifts
Perfection’s aroma fills the home with a sigh.
Steam arms embrace by heaven’s richest kiss.
Family wisdom tempts the heart’s hungry eye.
The golden disk nests in a tin grandma sent.
Sliced while warm, no cream piled high.
The perfection guarantees the time to present,
An award for the first Pulitzer pie.
One thought on “Preheat to 425”
Now I’m hungry and thirsty
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