Hello and happy Thursday! We're ready to rhyme, thanks to Angel Sammy's Thoroughly Poetic Thursday challenge.
It was autumn and Marjory had a frightfully festive home,
Right down to the pumpkins and cauldrons, and even the skulls and bones.
The season of autumn was of course Marjory's favorite,
In no small part because it involved her most favorite flavorings.
An apple orchard spanned the entirety of Marjory's back yard.
Finding crisp, delicious apples to snack on was certainly not hard.
It was no wonder the place was called Orchard Lane.
Any other name and the place simply wouldn't be the same.
Luckily, that was Marjory's most favorite flavor in the world,
The being apple, of course topped with cinnamon in swirls.
When autumn rolled in and the leaves turned to fire,
Marjory felt more than just a little bit inspired.
She would go to the orchard out back and pick apples from the trees,
Wearing her favorite robes and her hat that was more than just a tad bit pointy.
It was one fine autumn day when Marjory felt one of her most common cravings.
It came to her as she sat with her cat Archie in her lap after an afternoon of playing.
Archie the cat lie snoozing and snoring, all curled up and cozy.
"You're right," Marjory said to her cat. "We have us a chilly evening, don't we?"
After begging her cat to allow her to stand,
She said, "Let's go to the kitchen, my furry man."
In the kitchen, Marjory picked through her apple bowl and counted not enough.
She said, "I need to fetch more apples from the trees if I want a pie in a tasty rush."
Just like that, Marjory donned her apple-picking robes and hat,
And then she was outside picking apples on Orchard Lane just like that.
Before she left she had said to her cat,
"You stay warm in here by the stove, Archie. I'll be right back."
Through the kitchen window, Archie watched Marjory pick apples from the trees.
She placed them in her basket, the apples soon numbering at least ten times three.
Red apples and green apples filled the basket in Marjory's arms,
As if they lived on none other than an apple farm.
Beneath the light of the moon Marjory picked just the right apples,
The resulting fruit mountain so tall it became hard for her to grapple.
She headed back inside where the kitchen stove was warm and toasty.
She said, "I'll make apple pies and cookies, and I'll save a few for roasting."
Archie reached a paw toward the basket and knocked an apple to the floor,
Where it rolled all the way across the room until it ran into the door.
"Now, now, Archie, haven't we had this discussion?" Marjory said.
"Orchard Lane's apples don't deserve such treatment," she added with a shake of her head.
To appease the playful cat, Marjory poured him some milk.
She placed it in front of him in a cauldron black and smooth as silk.
Then Marjory got to the task at hand.
Hustling and bustling through the kitchen, rarely in one place did she stand.
Before long, Marjory sat her hard work down on the table and smiled.
She looked at her apple cookies and the steaming apple pie.
They might look a bit scary and unorthodox to an outsider's eyes,
Since she had baked them to look like lovely skulls as a surprise.
That was a fact that made Marjory smile, though,
And that's what mattered, was it not, no?
Marjory had to admit to herself that her baked goods smelled delicious.
Archie must have agreed, since he tried to slap and grab a cookie in a manner quite vicious.
Marjory said, "Archie, my dear, please be kind to the baked goods.
After all, they're made with apples of Orchard Lane, the most magical of woods."
After tasting some for herself, and then a bit more,
Marjory turned back to the kitchen and made more pies galore.
The next morning she packed up the pies and turned to the door,
But not before Archie the cat perched on her shoulder and began to snore.
Marjory traveled down Orchard Lane,
The fiery colors of its trees nearly insane.
She walked and walked until she reached the town,
Where, at the sight of her, no one made a sound.
Then Marjory heard whispers and murmurs, none of which bothered her.
When compared to the townsfolk, she knew she appeared much stranger.
In the town square, she pulled out the pies,
And that was when she was met with starry eyes.
The townsfolk flocked over and gave her polite nods and smiles,
Grabbing for themselves pieces of apple pie all the while.
A man said, "How does she do it? Her pies always taste like magic."
A woman replied, "If she ever stops making them, it will be quite tragic."
Marjory smiled at the sight of her Orchard Lane's pies being enjoyed.
Not sharing them with the world would leave such a void.
The people in town offered to pay for the pies every single time,
But Marjory never charged even a single dime.
When Marjory and Archie had finished in town,
They returned to Orchard Lane with smiles, not frowns.
They ate more apple pie and enjoyed the autumn night.
They were home sweet home, without a single worry in sight.
We are also, of course, here to give thanks today. After all, it is the day of Brian's Thankful Thursday Blog Hop.
Adorable story poem!
We stayed concerned about the white tips of Celestial Angel's ears, thinking about sunburn even if she was only looking out the window, or sleeping in a sunpuddle. Thankfully, she never had any problems.
We love blurry kitty photos! Your poem is wonderful, and the little skull on the pie is darling!
Your story poems are phenomenal, and so is Thimble's epic battle with the catnip ghost.
Excellent poem, as always. I love the drawing. Thimble is adorable and those are excellent tips.
Love the poem-story! It is a lot of fun to make a pie from apples you've picked yourself - somehow they just taste better than storebought! Getting them from an orchard is easy around here as we are in apple country. Love the blurry photos too - ACTION photos we call them!
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