Consistently friendly and untempermental,
Cinderella never asked for much.
She told me her life too often was filled
with flavorless spice
and not that honest pumpkin flavor
that only princes recognize.
So, she learned how to sweeten the pie
without masking the taste
of fields full of orange
and fall festivals held on old village greens.
The secret she told me is in the milk,
ready to go
into a filling
both intense and sweet —
yet never high in fat.
Two whole eggs, two yolks,
the least grainy filling,
served best in a glass slipper.
“But, my dear,” I asked,
“with the pumpkin pureed for your pie,
how will you get to the ball?”
“I’d rather stay honest,” she said,
“and be who I am.
“Besides,” she continued,
“the pumpkin aroma will be quite enough,
to bring him my way,
and then I will serve up
ambrosia for him,
a dessert plate for me,
and always a slice left for you.”