The kitchen smells like all the love you poured into supper,
my bizarre favourites, cauliflower and salad made of spinach.
Sometimes I wonder if you would rather, I was that lazy boy, watch the game, swill a beer guy.
I put a CD in, and rock and roll away the with the dishes.
Get the kids to bed, even the dog has given up on the day and snores to himself.
And now the kitchen smells faintly of dish soap, and all the love I poured into that.