When I was just
a little thing,
About the age of four.
My mother took me to a Cooking School,
My, and what a bore.
Too little to be interested.
I just wanted to go home.
Of course I was too little,
So I couldn't go alone.
Too small to sit down where I could see,
Too tall to stand up in the seat.
Mom promised me a nickel, if I'd be good,
Now that's a bribe to me!
There was an elderly lady,
That sat tall, in front you see.
I announced with bold displeasure,
I could not see for that old lady in front of
Mom never took me back to cooking school,
Not that I remember,
It wasn't worth it to my mom.
After that day in September.
I saw no reason for all that fuss,
I didn't think that I was bad,
But Mom acted as though.
It was the worst day she'd ever had.
Little children see things differently,
Than Moms and Dads seem to.
But I wouldn't want to go back to cooking
There're are better things to do.
Faye Reyenga © 10 / 24 / 2004