Terrible Hunger for the Perfected Pie

Mother was the queen of pies, filling each with dreams inside.
Jams and cream and slices of fruit. Anyone seeing or smelling them would smile at a friend and shake hands
When one left the oven newly born compliments to the cook adorned

All cried: "I need the pie!! Heighten the flowing tide of life!"

You must realize that if enough envy a thing, someone will covet or perhaps something.
A squirrel god with heads, 12, beat breast with drool humiliating itself.
Outside the family's window glaring, its breath and 24 tiny eyes staring.
The poor thing was used to entering leather flaps, the window, to it, a bizarre concept.
Down it burrowed to come up under rattling the invisible window barrier.
The foundation of the house was deep, eating and pushing the dirt at 20'.
Tiring itself at 50' underground. Dirorienting itself with 12 dirtied brows.
Eyes clogged, bludgeoned with rocks shut. 140' down still imagining pies intensifying lust.

All cried: "I need the pie!! Heighten the flowing tide of life!"