71 The scent of Cinnamon Rolls
1
Every now and again,
There comes a perfect day,
When everything just adds up,
And you always get your way.
2
It doesn’t happen very much,
And it would not be good if it did,
But I had one of those perfect days,
Nineteen Fifty-Eight when I was just a kid.
3
We had just moved to the east slope of the Rockies,
On the great Colorado plane,
Open spaces and no neighbors,
And muddy roads when it rains.
4
It was Thanksgiving morning,
After a heavy snow in the night,
The cedar trees were heavy with the snow,
That shown a sparkle-filled white.
5
Outside we build a sled run,
Avoiding snowdrifts and rocks,
In the kitchen the woodstove glowed red,
On the left side of the fire box.
6
The TV was already showing,
The start of some parade in New York City,
And Mom was making us cinnamon rolls for breakfast,
And she would call us when they were ready.
7
But Mom didn’t have to call us,
Because over a frozen field of snow,
Came the warm rush of a perfect day,
And the scent of cinnamon rolls.