The Saddest Sight Poem by Vallerie Lobell

The woman cooked for seventy years,
There were sixteen of us to feed,
Eight of us in school at one time,
Oatmeal or forty biscuits filled breakfast needs,

She canned fresh vegetables and made jelly,
Her cornbreads were like no other's,
The last to go was her Sunday Spaghetti,
When Alzhiemers took hold of our Mother,

Then the doctor said she could cook no more,
We had all been trying to tell her so,
But it's the saddest sight for me to see,
All the knobs removed from her stove,