Blueberry Mornings and Maple Rain

The sizzle sings a morning song, a symphony of heat,

As batter swirls on the warm griddle, a childhood breakfast treat.

The scent of vanilla takes me back, to lazy Saturday's embrace,

Where cartoons danced and sunlight streamed, upon a smiling face.

My mother hummed a happy tune, as blueberries burst so blue,

Like tiny jewels within the batter, a promise sweet and new.

The golden rounds, like summer suns, would beckon from the pan,

A stack of fluffy, buttermilk bliss, a simple, perfect plan.

With pats of melting butter crowned, and syrup's golden gleam,

Each fluffy bite, a burst of joy, a childhood breakfast dream.

The purple pops of juicy fruit, a tangy, sweet surprise,

A taste of summer's bounty, beneath cerulean skies.

More than just a breakfast treat, these pancakes hold a charm,

A memory of warmth and love, safe nestled in my heart.

So let the sizzle sing its song, and batter dance with glee,

For blueberry pancakes hold a love, that sets my spirit free.