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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Thanksgiving fast approaches and the bustling has begun in an enchanting house, the House of Cinnamon. With children home for holiday, the voices that you hear are sunny as the curtains hung inside this home of cheer. As words elatedly resound through rooms and down the hall, a glow of kinship grows to warm each nook of every wall. Two little ones on father’s knee now listen to him read while mother in the kitchen mixes dough and starts to knead. The daughters don their aprons, glad to help their mother bake while older sons outside leap into heaps of leaves they rake. And then the kitchen fills with song as mother hums a tune. Her daughters sing the lyrics as the wee one licks a spoon. Now the dough with sugar, nuts and raisins all is rolled and cut into as many pieces as each pan will hold. Inside the oven, butter-drizzled rolls now ooze and swell, and soon the habitat absorbs a most delightful smell. Outside in chill of autumn’s wind the boys having fun can smell sweet scent of cinnamon. Into the house they run! Now day has turned to evening. From a chimney curls grey smoke as round the hearth inside there sit the first-arrived of kinfolk. The children of the house are sleeping, but when they awake, they’ll greet the ones they’re thankful for. Of love will all partake. For in the House of Cinnamon a way of life remains untouched by what the world’s forgot. Here harmony still reigns. for The Enchanted House Poetry Contest of Nayda Ivette Negron
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