Johnny Crumble, the pie man,
Hoped there was more
Than just cold water crusts
And lemon meringue
To life and he mused,
I have potential
Beyond pies and tarts
And flaky croissants.
So he moth-balled his bakery
And set out to find his potential.
But every door he opened,
Revealed just flour sacks
And stacks of butter
And crates of eggs
And beaters and ovens…
Dispiriting stuff…
When looking for lofty potential,
Which was as elusive,
As finding good men in Ninevah.
Sadly, years later,
Threadbare
And despairing as a biblical prophet,
He died.
And etched in granite eternal
His grave marker reads…
Here lies Johnny Crumble,
The Pie Man.