Cookies, Gingerbread, and Apple Pies

It’s fall, and the crisp air,

Urges me to go somewhere,

But some afternoons I choose to bake,

Instead of walking by the lake,

Memories are stirred from my youth,

When I did boyish things that were uncouth,

Catching crawdads at the pond,

Skipping pebbles to the great beyond,

Or chasing  bullfrogs and  agressive snakes,

Pretend to burn witches at the stake,

But some days I would wait til Mother baked,

She would glance at me, stop and say,

“You’ve got to help me bake today,”

I learned to cook, but I was curious why,

“I think I’ll have a wife to cook for me,”

She laughed and said, “Wait and see,

When you’re at college and on your own,

You’ll be glad you can cook alone,”

Mother was smart and very wise,

I learned to cook and improvise,

Cookies, gingerbread, and apple pies,

Later as a single parent, too,

I learned to cook for my three kid crew,

I don’t tell everyone Ican cook,

Or that I can write a book,

There are so many things I keep to myself,

They’re better left unexplained on the shelf,

I have found I’m a Renaissance man,

And I can do anything I think I can.

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