Peachy Keen

In the wee of the night with some sleep in her eyes,
Peachy Keen rose from bed so she could bake some pies.
All alone save her tabby with no moon in sight,
beneath stars of July baking pies was delight.

Through the window she gazed at the ebon-starred sky,
then she snapped into action preparing a pie.
Apple pie was her choice, never having regret
because Peachy was one to respect alphabet.

She rolled dough on the counter abutting the sink;
in her kitchen in silence she had time to think.
In the bin lived an apple type, Granny Smith Green;
picking Granny for filling appealed to Miss Keen.

Yet she also saw Macintosh, juicy to wit,
so the choice of two apple types made Peachy sit.
This decision is mine, which two apples to use;
(Peachy Keen saw the dawn with a case of the blues.)

As the sunlight appeared and refracted through pane,
Peachy squeezed out her blues and poured them down the drain.
I will utilize both apples--juicy and tart;
(Peachy beamed fuzzy gleam in the aura of smart.)

All my pies are a hit!  Peachy oft would repeat,
so I don’t see the harm adding Granny to sweet.
Thus her first pie was roused in her oven at dawn
as the stars disappeared and the sunlight went on.

Peachy thought of her next pie, blueberry of course;
(for Miss Keen alphabet strict adherence had force.)
Yet ere she rolled more dough in which filling would pour,
she thought kindly of Betty, her neighbor next door.

I will take her the first pie, thought Peachy with love;
(when she took out the pie Peachy wore that big glove.)
On a big covered plate Peachy carried it so
to the porch of her neighbor, Miss Betty Margo.

By the dawn’s early light Peachy placed apple treat
in the shade of a roof on a weathered porch seat.
Then to draw some attention so Betty would know,
Peachy rang the bell once then returned to her dough.

Time for Peachy was like pectin dripping from spoon,
and before she could knead dough it was well past noon.
So she went back to Betty’s porch with her head bowed:
Why didn’t you try the pie?  Peachy wondered aloud.


40 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
April 22, 2014

Form: Anapestic Tetrameter  (with some license on the last line!)