Every year the parish held a special potluck night
For which Aunt Molly always baked some morsels of delight;
For forty years I never missed being part of all the fun
All year long this plate would wait that special day to come.
The night before she’d take me off my elevated shelf
(So proud to be selected as her special piece of delft);
She’d polish me and shine me up; I glistened in the light;
Then she prepared the cakes and treats I’d bear tomorrow night.
Arriving at the parish hall she’d proudly set me out
Delighting in the compliments of ladies milled about;
I’d take my place with great aplomb beside each other plate
Knowing well the cakes I bore were the best, without debate.
Year in year out Aunt Molly’s treats were gone before the rest
They nearly ate the plate as well—to which I can attest!!
What joy it was to play my part in her few hours of fame,
But time moves on relentlessly and slows her fragile frame.
Her feeble hands no longer do the things they did before
And she can’t lift me down now from the dresser anymore
At times I see her look at me and little teardrops fall,
Perhaps recalling fondly, potlucks in the parish hall.
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.