Tikta

In childhood's realm where memories reside,

A taste of bitter, mom's love did provide.

For in our meals, she'd sprinkle tikta's grace,

While we, in search of sweet, would flee the chase.

Oh bitter, you were her secret delight,

But for us, your presence was a bitter fight.

Mom knew the value of your potent touch,

Yet we yearned for flavors that weren't as such.

She masked your essence in every dish she made,

With tricks and wiles, she sought to evade.

But little did she know, our childish schemes,

To dodge your grasp, to shun your bitter themes.

In soups and stews, you'd subtly creep,

Tainting our tongues, making us weep.

We'd crinkle our noses, push you aside,

Refusing to let your taste abide.

But oh, how cunningly she'd weave her spells,

To make us savor, your bitter wells.

In salads and herbs, you'd subtly play,

A symphony of flavors, with no dismay.

She'd coax and cajole, with motherly care,

"Come, taste this bitterness, if you dare!"

Reluctantly, we'd take that tiny bite,

And discover depths, hidden from our sight.

As we grew older, wiser in our ways,

We learned the lessons of those bygone days.

Bitterness, we found, was not just a foe,

But a companion, in life's ebb and flow.

Mom's love for tikta, we now understand,

A lesson taught with a tender hand.

For bitter, you hold secrets untold,

In flavors and experiences, rich and bold.

Memories now, with a bittersweet hue,

Of mom's persistent love, forever true.

Through laughter and tears, we reminisce,

About those love/hate moments, we can't dismiss.

So, here's to moms and their culinary art,

Infusing our lives with flavors from the start.

Bitter, you may be, but better still,

A taste that lingers, a memory to fulfill.