Dessert With Youngest Son Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Sitting across the table from our youngest son, watching his
eyes grow big as his order is served.

Our special dessert, it was called, cake with vanilla ice
cream piled tall.

Topped with hot fudge and whipped cream - a mountain so big
it would seem he couldn't finish it all the way to the plate!

Melting quickly, slowly dripping into a puddle of ice cream
spread across the silver plate.

With every bite, his eyes got smaller and smaller - as his
tummy got fuller.

Our waiter came over to the table, a smile in his eyes, as he
looked over our son's shoulder and asked if everything was
alright.

Our cute little guy laughed out loud and said, yes, thank you
very much.

Finally reaching the cake while shivering and shaking, he
asked if I could help him finish it.

Not wanting the calories, gently saying, 'no', he began to
talk because he really couldn't eat anymore.

Looking around, examining the restaurant's lay out, he
suddenly notices it's raining.

Actually it's pouring down hard and we think about leaving,
wanting a container to bring the remainder of his special
dessert home.

Filling the cup with melted stuff, we then get up and pay our
bill.

Saying thank you once more as we head out the door and into
the pouring rain.