The gentle mother cleaned off the table and started dinner.
He came in, her little miracle and beautiful splendor.
He scooted up to his little play table and chairs,
Excited he pulled out his baby blue pots and pans-
He was always eager to give his mother a hand.
Tickled he was to join her again,
she pulled out the jar and peeled them for him.
He pretended to chop and dice,
For now plastic knives would suffice.
Giggles and happy sighs gave the kitchen a pleasant vibe.
Pleased with the sight of him,
She sat the plate before his pumpkin grin.
She patted his head and whispered, “go head.”
A quick laugh escaped as he began to take
the pickled pair and held them in the air.
“Mommy,” he yelled; she turned to him and sighed.
“Don’t play with your food,” she said,
as he took the two small orbs, dark-colored
and cried, “they see you.”
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