On frigid nights and chilly mornings,
On quiet sombre days,
When gray clouds hang in the sky of evening,
When the trees in wind do sway,
When dinner's done and dark has fallen,
When tired mothers sigh,
The time has come for a friend forgotten,
For fresh baked apple pie,
With plate a ready and fork in hand,
A slice is laid out warm,
A moment is taken for a silent amen,
A thanks for the quiet calm,
How brief this life of mortal men,
With death so ever close by,
How great it is then to have a friend,
As reliable as apple pie....
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