Raisen Pie
Edgar 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.

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