Flour, baking soda, sugar, pumpkin filling, cinnamon.
Measured, mixed, stirred.
The creation of a desert delight, pumpkin pie.

As I’m on the table watching the humans roam,
they sit down to with one another to enjoy the feast
Food passed around the table and they all have a bit of each

Moved by the humans, into an oven.
The top layer of me caramelized.
The oven door creaks open with steam filling the area.

Set on an open windowsill where a chilling breeze cools my crust.
Leaves flurry as frost covers grass.
Bright lights uncover the night.

The humans take me to the table with a spot reserved.
If I was going to be eaten that would be absurd.

The end of a pie dead in the night, Thanksgiving.