A Mothers Day Poem

Mama’s old wood cook stove—
I remember it yet,
All the goodies Momma cooked,
how can we forget?
For her to fix meals was always a pleasure.
My memories of Mother are always a treasure.
...
That old stove cooked three meals a day,
Light bread on Fridays, cakes and pies for the holidays.
Cooked hams, turkeys and chickens with delight;
Many times used for canning till late at night.

The old stove heated the kitchen on cold winter days.
It served us so well in so many ways.
When we kids got home from school,
we always went looking
Straight to that old stove to see what was cooking.

An old iron pot that cooked the meat
Sat on the old stove, always cooking a treat.
Aromas of corn bread from the oven you could smell
For us hungry kids, it sure cast a spell.

As my mind takes me back to the Good Old Days,
Our lives were so simple in so many ways,
But picture my mother in an apron if you could,
Standing by her old cook stove with a bin full of wood.

© Karen RaySee More