Oh my goodness, grandma’s baking!

The anticipation! Can’t take it! Shaking!

Can I please please please, just taste the dough?

Just a tiny bit, a crumb for a mouse? No?

Ok, ok, I know when to stop.

I’ll wait and wait till my head goes pop.

That’s just the cover, I have a plan,

When she leaves I’ll taste that flan.

I could call my friend to come over,

She’ll open the door (with the flap for rover),

As soon as she’s gone, fingers in the bowl,

I can taste that sugar stuff deep in my soul!

I did as I planned and approached my trophy,

Quiet and soft, with footsteps loafy,

I took the scraper to catch lots of dough,

Plunged it in and stirred it so!

Brought it onto my awaiting tongue,

Taste buds waiting for of what had been sung.

Into my mouth! Oh why, oh why?

The dark, thick dough for buns of rye!

Disillusionment for one so young!

Betrayed by my best friend, my best tongue!

I thought it was some chocolate pastry,

Not rye, salt and yeast and not at all tast-rey.

I can never trust anything, not anymore!

Grandma’s betrayal shook me to the core!


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