There's nothing sadder than half a pie: dessert meant for four.
The encore to a family meal too long ago enjoyed.
Emotions rollercoaster as its absence is noticed -
It was there this morning, wondering when it would be cut.
Was it taken on invitation? Empty handed ne'er shall we be.
Perhaps a lady cooked him dinner, engaged him in converse.
Reminded him of the companionship life stole from his hand.
But there it is: half a pie in the microwave.
Evidence of nothing - a quiet night and no more.
An extra helping with custard as well as ice cream.
Did it appease the grief? Did it comfort his loneliness?
Did it remind him of his mother’s pastry, that my mother coveted so?
There's nothing sadder than half a pie
Half of the whole, half of what once was there.