Pancake Time

The batter pours slowly on the skillet

From the bottle held by her shaking hands

The small, pale circles with grow to fill it

On her toes to see the counter she stands

The edges dry out and small bubbles form

She hovers by the discs impatiently

The bubbles begin to pop in a storm

She peers beneath the flat cakes shamelessly

Up in the air they fly high with delight

The spatula held firmly in her palm

They soar tall as they reach such a grand height

She stares as they fall and remains quite calm

They hit the skillet with a loud sizzle

This craft with her daughter will not fizzle