The smell of burning peat where in the large lean-to
Momma is stirring dough while the old stove is burning
The little girls big brothers digging the peat will get the pancakes,
with a raw egg on top for energy.
She is fed little pieces of pancakes momma bakes
This wee child who got out of bed real early
She knows her wines, knows restaurants and food
But nothing tasted better than her Mother’s pancakes.
Oh loveliness of memory of spring and smell and a small child
who keeps these moments in her heart like treasures
This little girl, the eighth of thirteen children,
feels like a favourite, being alone with mother