CELIA'S POEMS

            No 31   April 17

 

            You know it makes be happy,

            When I can start to bake,

            Well because weíd have to eat it,

            I dare not make a cake.

 

            Often Iím in the kitchen,

            I may be there all day,

            I make trays and trays of goodies,

            Then give them all away.

 

            I feel sorry for my oven,

            It knows thereís something wrong,

            It thinks Iíve fallen out with it,

            Iíve not used it for that long.

 

            I really love my oven,

            Itís a real good friend to me,

            Itís my only bit of company,

            When I get up at three.

 

            Although weíre starting early,

            As soon as it is lit,

            Itís waiting at the ready.     

            For me to do my bit,

 

            Once we have got started,

            Itís quite an operation,

            But my oven bakes things perfectly,

            What good co-operation.

 

            My oven keeps on cooking,

            While I get on and mix,

            Weíve got a table full of cakes,

            And itís not even half past six.

 

            But now my ovenís finished,

            Iíve my hands round a coffee cup,

            Iíll sit and have a rest now,

            While Geoffrey washes up.