When the birds cry.

I don’t like it when it’s cold

          Inside my heart-

No noise, no sound, no soul.

I don’t like it when it’s cold

          With a mind full of snow

And a late summer-

I couldn’t imagine spring with no

Flowers.

          Set the table, set the flowers.

In the dirt we play, while mother slaves away

          In the kitchen, where love is made

And formed into edible surprises.

Forks on the left, spoons on the right.

Remember: Forks on the left,

Spoons on the right.