THE FROSTING DISH

When I was just a little tad

Not more than eight or nine,

One special treat to make me glad

Was set apart as “mine.”

On baking days she granted me

The small boy's dearest wish,

And when the cake was finished, she

Gave me the frosting dish.

I've eaten chocolate many ways,

I've had it hot and cold;

I've sampled it throughout my days

In every form it's sold.

And though I still am fond of it,

And hold its flavor sweet,

The icing dish, I still admit,

Remains the greatest treat.

Never has chocolate tasted so,

Nor brought to me such joy

As in those days of long ago

When I was but a boy,

And stood beside my mother fair,

Waiting the time when she

Would gently stoop to kiss me there

And hand the plate to me.

Now there's another in my place

Who stands where once I stood.

And watches with an upturned face

And waits for “something good.”

And as she hands him spoon and plate

I chuckle low and wish

That I might be allowed to wait

To scrape the frosting dish.