There is Time to Make the Cake

Can a cake really be made in a heartbeat?

And in the same heartbeat, can it be a treat?

There is time when the cake must be baked

When ingredients must be dutifully gathered

When the flour must be carefully measured 

And into the super bowl ceremoniously emptied

When the eggs must be nicely scrambled 

And into the flour unceremoniously dumped

When the milk, the sugar and the butter

Must too be added to bring in more flavor

There is that time in the whole conundrum

When from time to time, like a raging storm

The enigma must be furiously stirred

Until the mire is perfect and the hands tired

And then there is the necessary time

When a patient waiting must have room

To let the confusion settle down

And let the cake bake in the oven

As the minutes move like a troop of snails

And days become years, and years go miles

Only after enough sweating and waiting

Comes the much wanted time of eating 

When the mouth that is now salivating

Must now be allowed the entertaining

That for many years was withheld

When the heart could finally afford

Shedding tears of joy, having hitherto

Been accustomed to deep tears of hurt

When that nagging and ambitious hunger

Must be mocked, banished and torn asunder