By now I am covered with flour
Frosting
Sprinkles
The wipings of little hands
And big ones
Don't fret--it's what I was meant for
The drips
The smears
To protect a person's clothes
In a pinch
And with a good washing I'll lose
The stains
The mess
But I'll keep the memories
Of yearly Christmas cookies.
What am I?
No comments:
Post a Comment