The cake tins

I see the tins I used for Christmas Cakes
The Russian Cheese Cake and the apple tart
Nowadays do younger women bake?


I remember mother making Buns
Hot,uncross, she made cakes with her heart
Her apple suet pudding beat her plum


The kitchen was a room with its own fire
There we ate and cooked and fought,alarmed
Children pinch and nip and even bite


I banged my head upon the table sharp
The corners seemed to hate me,even spurn
I wished I were a dog so I could bark


I fell down the stairs, it was a thrill
It hurt less than the beatings made me smart
Children were deprived of any will

Shall these cake tins from my home depart?
Shall I make a small cake from a chart?
I hold the tin I used for Christmas Cake

Watching TV where new experts bake

I dream into your mind

I wish I were at Whitby by your side
From the Abbey Steps  we saw the.whole
The sound of gulls aswirling round our minds

The atmosphere of Yorkshire  blunt and kind
Salty  air,the North Sea,winds that groan
I wish I were at Whitby by your side

See the children taking donkey rides
The fishermen look   anxious , happy, worn,
The sound of gulls  is  swirling round my mind

From Saltburn,Staithes to Bempton bold cliffs   rise 
Then Bridlingon where Hockney was a boy
I wish I were at  any by your side

The two weeks break seemed long when we arrived
Now all my past seems like an old map torn
The sound of gulls  is   ccalling you to mind

To be in Whitby and to be alone
The pie shop’s open yet I feel forlorn
 I wish we were at Whitby side by side
The sun and air, I dream into your mind