LatinosUSA

(baked only at Christmas)

If I were a plum cake,
All fruity, rich, and nutty,
You’d find me once a year.
At Indian homes aplenty.

It’s that time when ovens start to hum,
And aunties start their quest.
Searching for whiskey and rum
Mix with ingredients for that extra punch

Flour would puff its chest and boast,
“Step back.  I’m snow, you know!”
Sugar would giggle cheekily,
“Sweetheart, I steal every show!”

Butter, in a melting mood,
Would flirt with every pan,
While eggs would crack up laughing
Because that’s just their plan.

Cinnamon would strut about,
So spicy, bold, and proud,
While nutmeg whispered secrets
Not fit for any crowd.

The fruits, drunk on brandy,
Would hiccup in delight,
And raisins would start gossiping,
“We’re soaked again tonight!”

Molasses, dark and brooding,
Would murmur, “Take your time,
Perfection needs patience
Or maybe it’s the wine.”

The oven, like a sauna,
Would wheeze, “Too hot! Too hot!”
While tins would sigh and grumble,
“Each Christmas, same old plot!”

But oh, when we’re done,
And cooled with loving care,
Wrapped in foil and memory’s warmth,
We’d grin and proudly declare:

“See you next December,
When bells and laughter chime,
We’re the legends of the season.
Sweet spirits aged in time.”

So, if I were a plum cake,
Baked once a year for fun,
I’d mend your gloom, stir up your joy,
And make your Christmas a great one.