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The aroma of holiday smells wrapped around my nose
Warmth from the woodstove to heat up my chilled toes
The floured old cutting board dusted fine with white
Mama in her apron brings to my eyes much delight
Outside the silent wind blows about the autumn leaves
Blowing up the cobwebs from which a spider weaves
But safe inside the kitchen smells of bakin’ going on
In my head gumdrops dance as sun breaks into dawn
Gingerbread, plum dumplins, sweet potato pie
“Oh, please let me have a lick,” I said with such a sigh
Miss Kitty traipsin’ under foot; flour in her fur
Rubbin’ ‘gainst my legs and giving off a purr
Celebrations, holidays, bakin’ days are best
Mama’s bakin’ can’t be beat from eastern shore to west
‘Tain’t just the food, but how it feels watchin’ Mama bake
Sure hope that I grow up like her for my family’s sake
My favorite is the cinnamon and sugared pie-dough scraps
I will eat them as they cool, while Kitty her cream laps
If I could I would save this day and in a bottle keep
The memories of all bakin’ days to dream of as I sleep
Thank you, Jesus, for a Ma with flour upon her nose
On her hands, in her hair and even on her clothes
Lookin’ ‘round the kitchen now it looks like all is snow
Bakin’ day with Mama, is the bestest day I know!
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