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The Birthday Cake

September contains, in quick succession, the anniversary of my sister's death, closely followed by my niece's birthday.  This year inspired me to write a poem, kind of commemorating both.  Making my niece a cake has been a painful privilege each year - I'm glad I could do it for her, whilst, at the same time, it underlines, afresh, the missing person who would make it for her, before.  This year I didn't actually make the cake, as her Daddy has become a cake-master, but, for poetic licence in the poem, I did! is the poem.  Enjoy...I think! The Birthday Cake Mummy made me a cake, once, in the shape of a dinosaur.   Its long, fondant-icing neck, stretched to the edge of the board, bulbous and pink.   She had tears in her eyes, as she carried it in. The adults exchanged glances. One guffawed. Mummy giggled.   I wasn’t sure why, but I think they liked the cake very much and were proud of Mummy, as cakes weren’t rea
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