time traveler

Oven Mitt

When you’re a kid and you’re hungry
Mom whips a meal up on the spot
She mixes and mashes
and the food comes out hot.

“Be careful now honey,
Don’t burn your tongue.”
So you blow on it a little
Then enjoy being young.

You run out to play
While mom slaves in the kitchen
And every meal that comes out
Is fine finger-lickin’!

But what you’ll learn when you’re older
Is that things only cook when they’re hot
Things like turkeys take longer
While toast may or may not.

And if you were to grab them
Before they cooled or they quit
Your fingers would sizzle
Without a good oven mitt.

It fits like a mitten
Only bigger and thick
And even though you’re protected
Still try and move quick.

Cause when a meal’s in the oven
It means someone’s hungry for food
And you don’t take your time
Because that would be rude.

So remember your mitt
and your hands will stay glad.
The food comes out fast
And your guests won’t get mad.

It’s a fine little invention,
made in Oven Mitt Land.
Like a guardian angel
That fits on your hand.

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