It was a Sunday Morning, 2012
Grammy had just made breakfast
Gracefully, my french toast laid
On my plate
With the energy
Of a six year old
I was electrified
To begin eating
The fluffy
Yet crisp toast
The smell was of
pure bliss
that Sunday morning

I challenged Grammy
To a french toast eating contest
I boasted to her
That I could eat quicker
The race began
Syrup, butter, and orange juice
Soared in the air
As we gobbled.
Grammy may have been old
But she was a nimble eater

Ten long years
Have gone by
And I’ve still yet to taste
Such angelic
bits of toast
Only in my mind
Can I remember
The heavenly charm
Of what once was.

It was Sunday Morning, 2022
Grammy got to sleep in
Gracefully, she laid
in her casket.
With the energy
of a sixteen year old
I was more mortified
to see
My lifeless
Yet beautiful Grammy.
Her touch was of
pure bliss
that Sunday mourning