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