In days gone by at home with my mum
The kitchen would lead me, discovering lures
Sunday morning the roast sizzling hot in the oven
For a hungry feeling I found all the cures
The afternoon at grandma’s for Sunday tea
She knew how to conjure the flavours together
Her pastries were famous, the recipes secret
She took them with her into afterlife for ever
Where are the smells of the Christmas pudding
Of spice and fruit that tickle my nose
The haunting waft of turkey in the oven
Of mince pies freshly baked, that’s how it goes
Memories of spices contained in bread pudding
An English mixture, to entice delight
The taste buds enjoying every crumb in my mouth
So smooth and fruity, oh that was a sight
At lunchtime I cook, the family are waiting
In the kitchen are sniffing, please tell what’s for dinner
We can hear delights cooking, can see the steam rising
Whatever you prepare, it will be a winner
Time repeats itself, the smells of childhood
Whether mine or my children, they will ever be
Every noise, every movement they hear in the kitchen
They will never forget the things that they see
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