As I stand there and look at the description, 

All I can think about is her in the kitchen. 

her hands knew exactly what to do, 

she needed no help, 

she knew every clue. 

How to make it just right-with way too much sugar. 

Her apron was dirty, but filled us with wonder

On how just exactly she could perfect each one  

The dinners and pastries filled us to the top

One after another, all made with love.  

The recipe looks foreign in my eyesight, 

But in hers, it’s like all the stars in the sky. 

Everything was correct, from the bowl to the oven, 

Nothing put out of place. 

Everytime i set foot into my small kitchen, 

I think of her hands and how well she did it. 

Oh, how i miss her, her cooking and all. 

Maybe one day, we’ll taste a plate of hers again.