Grandma's in the kitchen today With a bunch of dough and butter. I see the dough, so there I stay, Watching her cut the dough with a cutter. I knew what she was making now, A batch of cookies, for the house. I instantly thought about the 'wows' Which would come from all over the house.
But as I looked at the cookies, They seemed to be square, and very thick. "I know!", I thought with a big smile, "Grandma's making some bar-cookies!" So with a big grin, I sat down, And indulged with joy, not a frown.
A poem about bar-cookies (The square, thick, delicious ones). It's in a form of a sonnet, but it isn't so musical. Or is it?