Sandwiches
The matriarch asks from where these tiny sandwiches come hence?
From the magic market I reply wishing they only but a pence.
Boredom and routine broken by such a simple thing.
Wondering what surprise next I might can bring?
But for a moment the weekly rut broken.
Now must take time for a conversation spoken.
Every day is a gift I must not dismiss.
When gone no other will I more miss.