He can't be true, since it's Simple Scythe-man, returned anew…and why do all these pies--draw so many flies? Pattycake, pattycake, mother G.

Villages around turn out for rambling Pieman Steve

    On log festbenches and tables long

Generations old and crack'd

    Set up by farm and townsmen strong

Pieman Steve's sweet pies are ready rack'd

Not so thin and not so tall

Steve bids one and all

    Got my sweet pies for you--all fill'd with cherries

He bounces among them, balancing a load of wares on one broadly meated arm

The other dealing out the sweet saucy pies with singular charm

    The little ones jump and scream

    For Pieman Steve's lovely cobblers and cream

It's the gleeful twinkle of his eyes apeel

With beckoning warmth the gobbling children feel

But our man's about forces above mortal reward

Pieman Steve's markin' up his scoring board

    With seedy berry juice redmarks cross'd

    Four marker strokes, another wee soul's the cost

His sweet demand is cloud high

To all who sample taste and try

    For slicing into a Pieman Steve's wafting kidney

    Might fetch an aromatic wisp of lost little Sidney

Pieman Steve, he's serving them their own

In a pie or pasty sewn (don't look too close on that bone)

Mike M. West

Dedicated to my friend Tom H Knockoff with a shout out to the fanstastic C J Dennis, Laura, Australia and Norman Dubie (and Mother Goose, baby, the grimmest)