For all those cookies that mom made us
A taste of childhood
The scent of cookies, memories they bring,
As school’s embrace gives way to childhood’s door,
A mother’s love, through oven’s warmth, takes wing,
In rooms aglow, sweet treasures to explore.
With joy, I’d find those treats within my space,
A room transformed, each cookie’s tender art,
But now, a void, a tear upon my face,
I yearn for her, her presence lost, apart.
No more her touch, her laughter’s gentle sound,
The empty trays, a poignant, painful sight,
In kitchen’s quiet, grief’s weight does abound,
Her memory lingers, woven in the night.
Yet in the fragrance that the cookies bring,
A trace of love, eternal as I cling.
