Plato’s pie was in the sky,
\nfar off beyond the solar rim.<\/p>\n
Augustine’s pie was up there too,
\nlike a low-orbit satellite.
\nAt least you could see it dimly through a telescope.<\/p>\n
Aquinas had his pie baking in the hot oven.
\nYou could smell it, see it, burn your hand on the pan
\nor your tongue on a bite if you weren’t patient.<\/p>\n
Soren was never really happy unless he was eating his pie,
\nor even better, eating it again.<\/p>\n
Wendell Berry’s pie was baked at home,
\nmade with flour he ground himself with a mortar.
\nThere it is browning in the oven now while he says his prayers.
\nTwenty miles away in the city,
\ntwo pies pass through the McDonald’s drive-through window.
\nThey must, as one dollar just passed the other direction.<\/p>\n
Not one of them except perhaps the last,
\never forgot that God made the apples.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Plato’s pie was in the sky, far off beyond the solar rim. Augustine’s pie was up there too, like a low-orbit satellite. At least you could see it dimly through a telescope. Aquinas had his pie baking in the hot oven. You could smell it, see it, burn your hand on the pan or your … <\/p>\n