By James H. English
I am hungry for apple pie,
For its sweet, tart taste and the bite
of cinnamon and nutmeg,
And a buttery crust.
I am thirsty for strawberry wine
In a green field beneath a sprawling tree,
On a cool and fragrant day with nothing better to do
Than watch the ants march by.
I am longing for the warmth of a body
Pressed against me in the cool night,
While the hum of the air-conditioner lulls me to sleep,
And the frogs sing loudly for mates
In the ponds outside