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Our daily bread
by Jacqueline Craven
The dresser glows with reflected firelight
in the soft cocoon of an autumn dawn
Muted sounds of morning
pipes groaning, timbers moaning,
kettle growling on the old wood-stove.
Fire flickers and fizzes as I bake our daily bread
I swoon with the soulful scent,
smells delicious, like a new-born babe.
Floury fists assault the rising dough
Sticky fingers branding all they touch
Bread rising, oven heating
sounds of silence
swaddled in a sense of peace.