The Old Mixer
A clickity-clack against the glass
And the ascending tones of the motor,
Meant mother was going to bake
And the scents would fill every corner.
Whether sweet or savory foods to come
The Old Mixer announced a beginning.
Round and round mother's hands carressed
A batter or dough yielding family grinning.
For years, the Old Mixer sat in the cupboard
Whose worth and purpose to some was deign
Yet many young hands and a few older now
Send generational recipes forward again.
While advancements abound today
That do more than the Old Mixer could,
It isn't the tool, but the heart and love
That nourished our lives for good.
This old, simple servant I smile at now
For it brought us together to feast.
It had no small role in our family bounty
Raising lives, as to dough with yeast.
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