“If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe.” —Carl Sagan
We played and stomped the ground on the range we once roamed
Squeezing music in and out made a wheezy moan
Breezes teasing reedy grasses, weaving a tune
Down-to-earth as cow pies on a June afternoon
Work and pray, live on hay, you’ll get pie in the sky when you die.