My dad, he was a wonderful cook
He didn't use recipes or go by the book
I tried to learn to cook like him
But the way mine turned out, it was a sin
I asked him once how to make pancakes
He said I don't have a recipe but for your sake
I'll measure ingredients while chewing the fat
Measuring a pinch of this and a handful of that
My family was happy to have good food
It improved their appetites and their moods
I can make pancakes with the best of them
The receipt I have I'll never lend
But I'll pass it down to my girls
And I hope that they will obey my rules
To use grandpas pancake recipes
And then pass it on to his posterity
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem