Humble Pancakes Poem by John W. McEwers

Sunday morning sleepy wake up
it's ten and we gently stir
there is nothing on our schedule
we are waking we just are
and it's springtime birds are chirping and there is church
Will we go?
it doesn't matter it is sunday we have pancakes and no work.

Legs so dreamy stumbling downstairs we could fall or maybe float
if we lost our footing on them which we could we have no work
we reach the bottom but we still feel like we're high above the clouds
we haven't felt this way for hours one hundred sixty eight to be sure
and so we're in the kitchen whisking batter for our breakfast cakes of fluff

Mix in chocolate chips and blueberries in two bowls each batch its own
because Amy likes things chocolatey and our son he loves the fruit
onto the griddle goes the batter humble bubbling about making pancakes for our breakfast on this humble sunday cloud

They are delicious oh so perfect oh so fruity fluffy floof
we are laughing hugging smiling in a family sunday mood
to make a law out of this morning to take account would be good
maybe we should have gone to church where they tell you cheating on your spouse is adultery.