Mother's Kitchen

I remember those times quite well,

Though it often seems like a dream,

Riding my tricycle in Mother's kitchen

While she daily cooked and cleaned.

She placed food in the wood-burning oven

To cook the proper length of time.

She'd then use her handmade straw broom

To sweep trash along a straight line.

I knew that, while peddling along,

I had better stay out of the way

And never let my red tricycle

Go in areas called "astray."

I traveled a certain path,

So very squeaky and wooden,

While smells of gingerbread danced,

As well as pineapple pudding,

Mother made many recipes in her kitchen,

Yet never wrote them down.

I think she also had one for smiling,

For I rarely saw her frown.

I want the same happiness in my home,

And I will certainly try to do my best.

With memories of Mother's kitchen to help me,

I know I will pass the test.

~ Jimmie Oliver Fleming