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Neville

Love and Warm Toast

Love and Warm Toast

 

The breeze that blows across the field

Carries the scent of various wild grasses

Feral flowers and the cereal farmer’s gold

 

Later

 

The miller with his cool and calloused fingers

Shall fashion and form

Each golden husk into breakfast

 

Thus

 

Reminding me of my mother as a young woman

Many years ago now but always

Smiling and smelling of love and warm toast