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Poem
February 6, 1900
Little Falls Weekly Transcript
Little Falls, Morrison County, Minnesota
What is this article about?
Nostalgic poem about the speaker's fond childhood memories of his mother's superior mince pies, their irresistible smell and taste, and his ongoing longing for them despite life's travels.
Clipping
OCR Quality
95%
Excellent
Full Text
THAT MA USED TO MAKE
How sweet to my nostrils the smell from the oven
That greets them whenever I enter the room.
An odor more grateful than altar of roses
Or violets shedding their dainty perfume!
It carries me back to the days of my boyhood,
When, stub-nosed and freckled, a wart o'er each eye,
I nosed around and each day got a licking.
This odor that comes from a baking, my heart,
That mince pie so luscious, so rich, so delicious—
The mince pies—like those that my ma used to make.
Those mince pies of mother's, how can I describe them,
As out of the oven they came smoking hot?
How grateful they were to my vacuous stomach,
And how they were sure to go straight to the spot!
With hands black and grimy I'd grab up a quarter,
And down my esophagus quickly 'twould fly;
I used to regret that I wasn't built bigger,
So that I could hold more of mother's mince pie.
That mince pie so tasty, so juicy, so pasty,
The bully mince pie that my ma used to make.
I've knocked around some since the days of my boyhood,
At times have gone hungry, at others lived high;
But never as yet in my peregrinations
Have I found anything that could equal that pie.
I haven't much money, but I'd give five dollars
And never let loose even one big sigh
If I could get next, just once at my dinner,
To one big hot chunk of mother's mince pie—
That pie so delicious, so juicy, so luscious,
The mince pies like those that my ma used to make.
—Minneapolis Journal.
How sweet to my nostrils the smell from the oven
That greets them whenever I enter the room.
An odor more grateful than altar of roses
Or violets shedding their dainty perfume!
It carries me back to the days of my boyhood,
When, stub-nosed and freckled, a wart o'er each eye,
I nosed around and each day got a licking.
This odor that comes from a baking, my heart,
That mince pie so luscious, so rich, so delicious—
The mince pies—like those that my ma used to make.
Those mince pies of mother's, how can I describe them,
As out of the oven they came smoking hot?
How grateful they were to my vacuous stomach,
And how they were sure to go straight to the spot!
With hands black and grimy I'd grab up a quarter,
And down my esophagus quickly 'twould fly;
I used to regret that I wasn't built bigger,
So that I could hold more of mother's mince pie.
That mince pie so tasty, so juicy, so pasty,
The bully mince pie that my ma used to make.
I've knocked around some since the days of my boyhood,
At times have gone hungry, at others lived high;
But never as yet in my peregrinations
Have I found anything that could equal that pie.
I haven't much money, but I'd give five dollars
And never let loose even one big sigh
If I could get next, just once at my dinner,
To one big hot chunk of mother's mince pie—
That pie so delicious, so juicy, so luscious,
The mince pies like those that my ma used to make.
—Minneapolis Journal.
What sub-type of article is it?
Song
Ballad
What keywords are associated?
Mince Pie
Mother
Boyhood
Nostalgia
Baking
Childhood
Odor
Delicious
Poem Details
Title
That Ma Used To Make
Subject
Reminiscence Of Mother's Mince Pies
Form / Style
Rhymed Quatrains
Key Lines
How Sweet To My Nostrils The Smell From The Oven
That Greets Them Whenever I Enter The Room.
That Mince Pie So Luscious, So Rich, So Delicious—
The Mince Pies—Like Those That My Ma Used To Make.
If I Could Get Next, Just Once At My Dinner,
To One Big Hot Chunk Of Mother's Mince Pie—
That Pie So Delicious, So Juicy, So Luscious,
The Mince Pies Like Those That My Ma Used To Make.