Oh, what a feast for eyes and soul,
A pie of art, a seasonal scroll.
Autumn’s warmth in every fold.

Not on a plate, nor in a tart,
But framed in art, a work of heart.
Its lattice crust, a delicate dance,
Like autumn leaves in sweet romance.

The filling, warm and spiced just right,
A swirl of cinnamon, pure delight.
It beckons close, a taste so near,
Yet only eyes may savor here.

A slice of joy, a slice of cheer,
A slice of pie that’s always here.
No fork is needed, just a gaze,
To lift the soul in autumn’s haze.

So let it hang, this pie so fine,
A slice of art, a sweet design.
A taste of fall, a touch of grace,
In every glance, a warm embrace.

Ah, a symphony of warmth and quiet—where walls hum butter and dusk spills its honey. No frills, just a snug cocoon for mornings and smooth, sun-kissed edges. Just one line, just a ring.

soft squares
quiet on a wall

between them
a band of warm butter
a thin strip of sunset

no cinnamon smudges,
no lattes—
just a little heat held

for kitchens that hum
and mornings that soften

cozy wall art,
quietly sweet
just one line,
just a ring.