Oma

To visit you was our treat, my older brother loved you. Though from the moment we did meet you thought I wasn't up to the standards of a first-born son whose name was true tradition. Yet you allowed us to have fun and Opa took us fishing. Each afternoon, cocoa and cake: At three o'clock precisely. You'd built from scratch this special bake, 'twas tasty, went down nicely. I still recall your hairy hand that held the kitchen knife. Two slices cut, as per demand: Our faces grew alive. Those were the days and they did end but what I failed to see, is why my brother's piece of cake was always bigger -always BIGGER- than was the one for me.