He says he wants to make a cake with me.
He flicks through the book,
Says ‘there’s too many, I can’t choose’.
He finally settles on a pavlova.
We crack the eggs and whisk them,
he says it tastes like marshmallow
and I tell him off for licking his fingers.
He smoothes out the greaseproof paper
And spreads the mix out.
When it comes out from the oven
an hour later, it looks like a pillow.
We eat it later, with Granny,
with raspberries and fresh cream.
Is there anything more precious
Than a want in a little boy,
Seen through to completion?
#26
elisabeth pike 