Cinnamon Rain

It's raining on the apples, peaches, plums and pears.
It's sprinkling on the pancakes, and the pretzels that I share.

It's floating down to my French toast to make it spicy sweet.
On homemade butter cookies,
Its sweetness is a treat.

I beg to use the shaker to try my expertise,
At dropping cinnamon rain into sister's cream of wheat.

Sometimes when I'm shaking,
I miss the bowl or plate.
And cinnamon rain flies everywhere,
It's hard to keep it straight.

I get the sponge and broom,
To clear the sugary dust.
That sticks to table, chair and fingers.
Licking is a must.

I sweep and wipe till all is neat.
In place I am again,
For now, it's time to sit and eat,
All the cinnamon rain we can.