We lived in the boonies, way out in the sticks.
We played well together, with never a dread
Except for one thing, and that was the bread.
Dad sat at the far end of the table you see,
It seemed like a mile, at least to me.
The biscuits were always down near his plate
When passed down to me it was just 'too late'.
As they came down the line, each kid took one
with Mama and Auntie and then there were none
For before they started Dad had grabbed three
And that left nothing again for me.
Over all the noise and fun-filled din
I'd yell 'Please, Dad, pass the biscuits again.'
Sometimes it seemed, I could not get ahead;
All I wanted was one piece of bread.
When I die and get to the Golden Gate,
I hope the bread sets near my plate
I won't have to commit the immortal sin
By yelling 'Please, pass the bread again.'
by L.E.Ashley