Glory

 

“‘Tis feasible,” my mother said,
“One day you won’t approach with dread,
The culinary preparation needed.”
“To keep your family fine and strong,
Health’s maintenance. And life prolong!”
I sighed and knew, this once, she should be heeded.

And so she set the gadgets up,
She showed me teaspoon, timer, cup,
And joyfully, she started my instruction.
And while I watched in blank dismay,
Components hybrid on display,
I feared I’d never manage reproduction.

My poor family ached long-term
Gelatinous stews that made them squirm,
And casseroles known only by their toppings.
But still my mother laboured on,
Her lines of duty, clearly drawn,
From morn till night. Without. Ever. Stopping.

Her daughter must be well prepared,
No defeat would be declared.
And suitors would not ever find her wanting.
From soup to nuts and all between,
She taught me her divine cuisine,
And introduced aromas rich and haunting.

And I learned to cook, I truly did.
Discovered secrets ever hid,
Explored the states of ‘Heaven, Gustatory’,
And though I’ll never famous be,
My friends and all my family
Are satisfied. And that, to me, is glory.

Mondays do get knocked a lot,
With poetry, we three besought,
To try to make the week begin
With pleasant thoughts--perhaps a grin?
So Jenny and Delores, we,
Have posted poems for you to see.
And now you've seen what we have brought . . .
Did we help?
Or did we not?

Next week, we will heed the call, 
And tackle 'Music' for you all!