Such time spent giving
Of time and grace and care,
While spoilt guys get served
In order of pushing past,
And taken under wing
To ease a looming tantrum.
The cook he grafts,
Sometimes rushed, sometimes calm,
Through dead time, down time,
But there, in case, in care,
To fill the need and give
An occasional sticky bun treat.
Little noise from the kitchen,
A passion too deep and low
To easily register
On attention tuned
To exciting frequency,
But always there beneath.
Through this they know they can
Step out from under these rolls,
Pull off each others' aprons
And laugh as they're covered in flour,
As he whisks her away in his arms
To the night and the stars and the dance.
