where's that cakeman gone?

In wintry evenings
breaking the chilly misty slience
he used to cry...a trade cry of his
The cakeman at our colony
of houses with small families...
and we would then
just run outdoors
and in the dark
would find him
a big black trunk on his head
full of pastries and cakes...
We would surround him
like bees...buzzing...pestering...
and he would carefully put his trunk down
on the lawn his hands shaking...
his wrinkled face happy seeing us...
his tiny crowd of customers...
and in his little taper light
we would wait to see
what he had brought for us
from far away...we thought then
our cakeman...was from an alien land...

The top shelf would have small pieces...
of cakes and pastries and chocoballs...
but we were always eager to see what
lied underneath the top detachable tray...
and yes!
before our eyes filled with wonder
and mouth already watered...
he would remove the upper tray
and then...
numerous big creamy chocolatey
dreams
were revealed to us...in different shapes...
some were three tiered ones...
some were simple cones...
some looked like hearts big...
some had faces of mickey mouse or donald the duck...
O ...
we would then ask for more!
we would shout,clamour,tug
his shirt's sleeve...
and he would happily distribute
cakes and pastries and muffins...
cupcakes and toffees...

The wintry evening of childhood
at the colony with houses
peopled by small happy families...
and badminton courts laid fresh
and wooden benches with green paints...
had that cakeman very much into it...
A cakeman arriving at the place...
with his trade cry...'cake...o...o...'
breaking the misty sunset silence...

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