Cinnamon Rolls and Butter

I am here to extol my sinful lover:
Cinnamon rolls with a little bit of butter
I know “a little bit” is a relative term
But I just can’t quit because I’ve learned

That if you had a mother somewhat withholding
And you wished for another a little less scolding
Accept that affection can take many forms:
She might bake bread and serve it warm

You’re transformed, you start to soften
You’re reborn and you’re in “The Waltons”
Everything’s alright you feel such joy
And at the dying light it’s “G’night John Boy”

Of course when you wake it’s all changed
She didn’t bake there’s no mountain range
Your brothers are cretins, your father lacks charm
And it’s hurry up and eat and work on the farm

I long ago left and due to therapy
To say I wasn’t blessed is fairly unfair of me
When I return there’s still something there for me
And I have learned and am aware and see

We can never repay what our parents gave
But while we stay this side of the grave
We should honor sometimes who raised us up
And forgive the crime we weren’t praised enough

Long gone Iowa is in my blood
On and on sky above, the milk and the mud
Now it’s harvest days where I was born
All work no play till you’ve brought in the corn

We’d come from the fields at the end of the day
Talk about the yield, bow and pray
Then more precious than gold for this band of brothers
Warm cinnamon rolls with a little bit of butter


Throughout November I am writing a poem a day in an effort to raise money for The Center for New Americans, an organization that is located in Western Massachusetts and does great work in acclimating our new citizens to their new homes. You can support my efforts by going here.
Also, most of you know I am moving to Oregon at the end of the year. Before I leave I will be doing two shows.  Both will be in Amherst at the NACUL Center at 7:00 on November 30 and December 7. Proceeds will benefit The Center for New Americans.
I will be joined by these fine musicians: Joe Ricker, Andrew Atkin, Dave Haughey, Billy Klock and Dan Thomas.

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