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When the mixer’s taken from its home,

      Behind its cupboard door,

Two little children soon appear

      Upon my kitchen floor.

 

‘We want to help,’ I hear them shout,

      With smiles upon their faces,

And, bit by bit, ingredients come

      From several hidden places.

 

Flour, sugar, eggs and marg

     Blend to the mixer’s beat

And the end result is put in tins,

      And meets the oven’s heat.

 

So that’s the end?  The work is done?

     We’ve almost reached our goal?

‘Oh no no no!’ two voices shout:

      ‘We want to scrape the bowl.’

 

For every child that’s ever lived

      Baking means one goal:

Before the washing up begins,

     They love to scrape the bowl.

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