Apple Pie...and Poetry

So today I was in the kitchen and realized that we had several apples that really needed used, one of the joys of living with a community kitchen, and so an apple crunch was in order. I was standing there cutting apples when I came to one which was particularly shriveled and I could not help but smile and think of my Grandpa Bywater who used to entertain us so often with the poems he had memorized and there it was...with each slice I could hear his voice as clear as could be, "I despise Dried Apple Pies" So I had to find the poem and share with you.
Dried Apple Pies

I loathe, abhor, detest, despise,
Abominate dried-apple pies.

I like good bread, I like good meat
Or anything that's fit to eat;
But of all poor grub beneath the skies,
The poorest is dried apple pies.
Give me the toothache, or sore eyes,
But don't give me dried apple pies.
The farmer takes his gnarliest fruit
'Tis wormy, bitter, and hard, to boot;
He leaves the hulls to make us cough,
And don't take half the peeling off.
Then on a dirty cord 'tis strung
And in a garret window hung,
And there it serves as roost for flies,
Until it's made up into pies.
Tread on my corns, or tell me lies,
But don't pass me dried-apple pies.

- Unknown

P.S. In case you are wondering the crumble turned out very good and well, there is nothing left of it so the apples must not have been to dried.