When I was small, my mother was large
she’d hold out her hand, waiting.
I wanted that cookie, she’d want a kiss
She’d hold the cookie high, I would jump.

I knew how the dog felt, begging for bones.
It was a chocolate delight, but the work
of begging is hard.

As I grew, the cookie seemed closer
the price was not the same. Hard work:
clean the house, feed the pets, rake the yard,
but I knew reward was waiting.
It would be sweet.