Each Sunday I would make a call To do her garden - hedge and all And after that she sent me home With a bag of cakes all on my own. Three miles journey - that it was - I walked and never caught the bus For I was wiry fit those days And childlike daft in many ways. Do not eat them all she`d say As, homeward I went on my way - Save a few for later son, When Peggy puts the kettle on . But I could not resist the taste And fumbled in the bag with haste As soon as I had left the door - Just a nibble - then one more. Mother Doggett`s cakes were grand - The finest baking in the land - They hit the palate with a thud - They tasted sweet and smelt so good. Three miles is a long, long way When a soul has not had a bite all day And a dozen cakes in a paper bag Don`t half make the stomach nag. With only a couple of miles to go - Nibble, nibble - just one more. By the time I reached the halfway mark And took a shortcut through the park The moorish dough was too divine And the bag got lighter all the time And by the time I got back home There were a lots of crumbs but not much scone. Mother Doggett`s cakes were swell - She baked with pride and baked so well And I feel guilty looking back To eat the lot for just one snack And yet I think she knew the score - Nibble, nibble - just one more. Kevin Holcroft.
Posted on: Mon, 21 Jul 2014 17:54:39 +0000
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