The Baker

Then
My blonde-haired son with eyes of brown,Who rode his bike all over town,He’d reached the grand old age of nine,Had learned so much in all that time.
But mostly, how he loved to eat,My cookies were a special treat,He’d lick a beater, taste the dough,Then grab a handful, off he’d go.
But soon, my boy just wanted toFind out how he could make them. True.And so he watched and so discovered,His baking soon surpassed his mothers.
Tonight he joined us in our home,He brought his wife and kids along,We sat and talked and had such fun,‘Twas hard to think it'd soon be done.
The grandkids said they had a yenOur boy went in the kitchen then,And set the oven, got some ‘stuff’,Then added till he had enough.
It only took a moment, till,He, all his kids’ dreams, he’d fulfilled,And cookies warm were on the tray,Enough to last till end of day.
And now, it was his mom. T’was so!Who licked the beaters, tasted dough,Then, as the cookies, warm, emergedStole a few, by hunger urged.
We gathered them (Just one more bite!),To send with folks into the night,I watched him pack up kids and then,I thought of ‘now’ and thought of ‘when’.
It’s not so long since he was nine,And still so young and still all mine,Where did the years all pass away?Did this not happen yesterday?
Today is his, it’s his turn now,
I wouldn’t change things anyhow,
I wave to them from on the porch.I’m happy now. I’ve passed the torch.

Now
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, us three, both me and they,We'll talk of games we liked to play!