On a quest for ingredients,
On the aisle of all things.
I stand there dumbfounded,
As I stare at a sea of tins.

A block of Welsh butter,
To find was not hard.
It was on the 3rd shelf,
Between the cheese and the lard.

A bag of soft brown sugar,
Is all part of the plan.
It was on aisle 5,
Near the custard & jam.

3 bars of white chocolate,
Not all for myself.
Were next to the biscuits,
On the confectionery shelf.

A tin of condensed milk,
That of the sweetened Kind.
Could not be seen at all,
It was too hard to find.

A myriad of tins,
Just stared back at me.
No sign of a condensed,
Only one bashed UHT.

A frail little old lady,
With round button like eyes.
Was looking at the mincemeat,
For this year's mince pies.

She was there with her daughter,
Who was helping her choose.
I asked for some help,
I had nothing to lose.

"Excuse me" I asked,
"May I pick your brain?"
"These tins of ingredients,
All look the same".

"I'm making some fudge,
Will evaporated do?"
She replied "It will not,
It will set hard as glue".

"I used to make fudge,
When I wasn't so old".
"Only condensed milk,
Will make it creamy and gold".

I reunited with her daughter,
Near the cakes and near the bread.
Speaking of her mother,
The following lines she said:

"She knows not who I am these days,
Nor knows my brother Paul".
"But Memories from years ago,
She finds easy to recall".

"I wish you all the very best,
With your confectionery adventure".
"Thank you for affording a little time,
For a lady with dementia".