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.