Page Title

First come the eyes

     Which spotted that Mum

Was making the cake

     That would end in my tum.

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Second the ear

     That heard the blades beat,

Whirring and stirring

       Ingredients sweet. 

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Third came the taste

     As I licked out the bowl

And my mouth had secured

       Its ultimate goal.

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Fourth came the smell

      From the oven that bakes

Those scrumptious, delicious,

      Mother-made cakes.

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Fifth came the feel

   Of that cake in my hand

And now it's all gone,

     But *eeh it were grand!

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* Yorkshire dialect for 'Oh that was good.'

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Copyright on all my poems 

and illustrations

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