The autumn sun shines in like a spotlight,
and a beautiful breeze brushes and blows against the olive shutters.
Inside is a place to make and bake,
a place where all are accepted and welcome.
Salt and pepper shakers dance across the table with a cling,
while a puff of cinnamon intoxicates your lungs.
The dog is a beggar at your feet,
and the cat jumps onto the counter where he doesn't belong.
There is a mountain of dust on top of the refrigerator,
for Mom is too lazy to clean up that high.
Clitter, clatter, rattle, tit, and tot,
the forks, knives, and plates jungle and jangle against the other,
creating the hum of a symphony.
But don't stay too long,
for word is, the last man standing
is honored with the glorious task
of wishing and washing every pot and pan