The twins were three years old!

Their little cake had three candles on each side

So they could blow them out together -

My half and your half.

They were thrilled.

 

Three days later Daddy turned thirty-three.

Of course, he had to have a cake too,

With thirty-three, pretty candles.

No candles was ever an option,

Nor the right number either.

 

The girls were napping when I iced the cake

And set blue candles all over the top.

I put it on the table in the open lounge -

Instantly seen.

They would be delighted.

 

I heard them stir and chatter,

The scuffle of feet.

I continued my clattery washing up.

They would know exactly where to find me.

But, suddenly, I realized how quiet it was.

 

Which needed investigation.

The girls were on the high, dining chairs

Bent over the table in rapt concentration,

Pressing each candle deep into the cake

Until it disappeared in the soft icing.

 

What is a mother supposed to do!

They looked deliciously guilty.

I couldn't imagine anything more fun.

I don't know whose idea it was.

I didn't ask.

 

'Well, there will be no blowing out today.

And we'll have to pick candles out of our pieces

Before we eat them.'

They were crestfallen.

They hadn't thought of that.

 

Actually, thirty-three candles in flame

Might have been a bit much anyway.

 

 

Cynthia Buell Thomas, August, 2020