A Skeptic's Cake

Skeptics never see the cake bake 
Never when it is out in the fields 

When the farmer ploughs his fields 
And for each row he plants in sown seeds 

Not at 5am each morning dawn 
When he wakes to attend to his farm land 

Skeptics never smell the cake fresh 
Not at harvest time dirty old fields 

With the grains through the mill work 
To the flour made fine and ready 

Mixing the flour and the butter  to dough 
The eggs and sugar to be added to the mix 

Skeptics never lay plates ready dressed up tables 
For banquet; for what cake? baked? no 

The oven kept warm and just as right 
At the temperature best prescribed 

But when the curtain is drawn out to day 
Skeptics are always first in line to lay claim 

Skeptics never see the cake bake 
Skeptics never smell dreams fresh in the oven lay