Whether ten thousand miles or a whisper,
measures the distance of how close we speak,
you hear my words like a rooted anchor
every sorrow and trifle of my week.
When I’m baffled by my cookbook
it’s only you who has the answer.
Can it be possible for me to cook
without calling you, Kitchen Master?
You taught me all I couldn’t learn from books
guiding thread and needles through my hands,
and showing me the use of crochet hooks;
it’s thanks to you my mind expands.
Though I’ve flown from the safety of the nest
it’s you who pack my bags when I voyage.
Point the way to new harbors where I rest;
when I waver, on I go with your courage.
Whether ten thousand miles or a whisper,
measures the distance of how close we speak,
you hear my words like a rooted anchor
every sorrow and trifle of my week.
