The 'Kitchen Aid' my instrument of love
allowing me to bake and mix and whip
my way into the hearts of those I love.
First sugar then the butter I will tip
into her sleekly shining silver bowl.
Her sculptured body seemingly upset
by flour, batter, cream - all take their toll.
Ruffling her cool exterior. Can she regret
her role as comfort feeder? For the sake
of hungry mouths for whom I love to bake?
With pizza, pies and pastries I entice
my daughter's friends to tea and in a thrice
the treats are gone. Its left to me to wash
her, ready for the next delicious nosh.
What a beautiful poem! This is precisely how my mum's cooking worked on me, and my friends, as children, fabulous. (Found you through the OU forums, by the way).
ReplyDeleteKatie.
Thanks so much Katie
ReplyDelete