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60 words
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My fingers smell of cinnamon
as I bake cookies
for my husband's sons. I know

sugar will not sweeten pain. I know
that when I tell them, when
I tell all of them, all will despise

then cinnamon's rich spice, and
that is what I'm guilty of. I am their flavor-thief—
not wife, not mother, not anything else wrong.

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3 Comments
LeBrozLeBrozalmost 17 years ago
~~

Nicely done cute little poem — simple, uncomplicated, direct.

AmyfriendAmyfriendabout 17 years ago
How could...

they not like your fresh baked cinnamon cookies. I liked the beginning but I think it slowed towards the end. In my mind the "I know" slowed it down and should have begun the next verse. etc.

WickedEveWickedEveabout 17 years ago
mentioned in new poems review on the forum

Hi there. :) This is good. Nice, simple, little poem that says so much. Good job.

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