The Problem With Dough
Times where tight; means were lean
A newly minted bride; arrives upon the scene
Freshly baked bread; surely would please her man
She would serve at dinner; at least that was her plan
Never mind the fact; she knew not how to cook
Checked her new cookbook; to see just what it took
Measured out the makings; enough to fill two pans
Mixed it all together; folded into loaves; dusted off her hands
Set the makings aside to warm; as her mother used to do
Dough began to rise; enough to fill 6 pans; hers numbered only two
Surely didn’t want hubby knowing of such a precious waste
What to do with the extra; was the problem now she faced
Peering out the window; spotted the fresh mother earth outside
A hole she dug; chucked the extra in; a perfect way to hide
To her chagrin as she looked again; this huge mushroom began to rise
Rushed back out to chop it up; cover with earth to hide from prying eyes
Once again the secret is out as the dough refuses to die
She sets with head in hands; admitting defeat and slowly begins to cry
Hubby is home; her sin revealed; forgiven as confessed
Many happy years of marriage followed; surely they were blessed
Based upon a story related by my Great Aunt Lilly Bennett Lambert from when she was a bride back in the early 1900s.
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