an Apple Pie

I happened by a small town, one day, as twillight crept across the ground.
The mossy smell of Spring just begun, was well and fully abroad,
and more so as Night finally crashed down,
upon a well-lit, prosperous town.
Each going about their business, indeed,
The day is over, tomorrow almost begun,
Coins changing hands, Healthy Commerce
could but ubiquitously echo, all around...

And yet, amidst all the gaiety of this dainty scene,
there lying destitute, alone, was a little Dream,
She was curled up against the approaching cold,
with eyes that have that Look - they were much, much too old,
for one of her little, sapient years.

I, bodiless, drifting with the aproaching breeze,
drew nearer, and saw
The poor thing, shivering, clenched her eyes tight,
Teeth grit grim, fighting the hunger
so obviously running amuck inside.

It was, you see, an Even, just as many that passed before,
And drifting all about were the simple folk going about their daily chores,
rushing home, for the Even meal was near done, you see,
and Home was simply the place to be...
And there,
above that alley, was a window that opened into a warm, golden place,
albeit one haunted with a subtle doom,
noone seemed to know tarried there.

For upon the windowsill a goodwife was laying down to cool,
the "piece de resistance" of the feast for that night,
a sight that made the very walls drool.
An apple pie, fresh from the oven, gleaming in reflected light.
And the poor child in tatters, in that odd corner lying,
Slave to poverty and strife.

The poor thing looked up,
And could not help, but have her mouth water at the sweet aroma that wandered in her belly and burned,
as a hundred, haggard tomcats lodged, wrestled within,
Could she be faulted for desiring all that she has thus seen?

And wailing softly, Fate drifted down to rest,
and inadvertently witnessed the goodwife meet the wretch.
Their eyes met, a thin tongue licked thinner lips wet,
A hopeful gaze directed to someone who just might hear.
A slight tightening around the eyes that could have meant anything,
accompanied a gaze just short of being harder than steel.

But here the Question is laid to rest,
Will the goodwife partake of her fortune
to the Wretched
cowering at her feet???

This is the Test.
The only one you have, and will have everyday, though in unique pattern, all through out.

That night in either of two senses a "killing" will be made,
One to end in compounded benefit,
and the other to compounded shame...

But before Things were decided, I decided to wander still farther on,
And witnessed a poor Dream waiting at many a window sill,
Though many also rejoiced in homes big or small,
Funny how noone notices the Fates that wander at the edge of it All ...

What is your Dream? And how well do you TREAT it?
You know your own answer,
you answer only to your own.

And so, yet still, I wander on...