Pancake Mornings

(from When You Were Young)

Those mornings
that I made pancakes, served
them with certified organic butter
and brown eggs from range fed hens,
that was just my way of saying
The whole world
loves you.

Oh, sure,
I mixed the batter,
spooned it on the griddle
that I tested with a splatter
to be sure the heat was right.
I made them in the shape of your name
because doing that made me glad.

But there was
a lot more love and labor
engaged before the batter
could bring pancakes to our table.
There were smiles, and sweat, and sometimes
tears when farmers’ crops would fail. There was
celebration in years of plenty

that left the larder full.
Of course, if you look back
to where it all began, there was a seed,
some sun and rain. Those breakfasts did not start
with human minds. The whipped cream and all that
buttery flavoring, the creative shaping,
that was just me having fun.

Long ago,
the smile you wear,
that sparkle in your eye,
the tummy that said yummy
at the scent of cinnamon, all the food
we’ve shared, the joining of our hearts and hands
it was all God’s plan.

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