The empty space upon the shelf,

A vacant jar, a silent theft.

Grandma's cookies, sweet and round,

Now vanished, nowhere to be found.

The family gathers, unconcerned,

No missing treats, no lessons learned.

But I, I know the hidden truth,

A secret held in stolen youth.

For in that jar, a treasure lay,

Not store-bought sweets, but more than play.

Grandma's recipe, a whispered lore,

Passed down through generations, evermore.

Each cookie held a memory's trace,

A smile, a hug, a warm embrace.

A pinch of love, a dash of care,

Ingredients beyond compare.

I took them, yes, I must confess,

A selfish act, I must address.

The guilt it gnaws, a bitter sting,

The joy I stole, the grief I bring.

The empty jar, a hollow shell,

Reflects the emptiness I fell.

But hope remains, a fragile thread,

To mend the trust, the words unsaid.

I'll bake new cookies, sweet and true,

with love and care, a recipe anew.

And in each bite, a promise made,

To cherish memories, unafraid.

The missing jar, a lesson learned,

A secret kept, a truth discerned.

That love's true essence, pure and bright,

Outshines the darkness of the night.

So let the cookies fill the jar once more,

A sweeter taste than ever before.

And in this act, a chance to start,

With open hearts, and brand new art.