Mama's Marmalade Poem by Hope Parks

The marmalade that Mama made
She made when I was blue.
She'd peel and grind 'til she could fine
that perfect citrus stew.
She'd say: 'the recipe for you and me
is simple as it's true;
thickly spread on home-baked bread,
it's sweet and rick orange goo.'
Now through the tears of many years
my Mama always knew
the marmalade that she had made
would always see me through.
So don't you set all in a fret,
I'll tell you what I'll do.
I'll wipe that tear away my dear
and make marmalade for you.