Many summers ago, in Iowa’s July heat, we spent a day.
Sun baking my freckled skin, I knelt in the wild strawberry patch.
My friend nearby, reminding me when I wearied, of the promise.
As night came, and we were back to our Illinois homestead,
we set the table with whipped topping centermost.
With growl inducing scents of batter to steam
from the waffle iron, we started losing our cool.
Sitting at the table, holding holds for grace,
we were indeed grateful for our day,
Ending with strawberry waffles.
,,,,,,
prolificpulse.blog 
Sounds like a beautiful day to remember. sweet 6
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Thank you! It was.
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I used the wrong prompt so I changed it to a poem and wrote the one for Kettle. One of those days. Woe is me to have to write two poems. I am happy!
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Beautiful memories
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Yum, nice memories. And they tasted all the better for the work that went into them, i know.
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Yes, they sure did!
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