I have been doing it for years,
Making our bread.
Never a chore,
An enjoyment comes with the making.
So many emotions can be found
As I work through the process.
All the ingredients mixed together,
Combined in a bowl.
Until the dough is formed with ease.
I knead the dough,
And any frustrations
Are taken from me,.
As the power of kneading
Releases them from my mind
At last it is ready
And love is then mixed in.
Into the loaf tins the dough is placed,
The bread rises until ready to bake,
Into the oven they go
And cooked until they are gloriously brown,
Taken out and left to cool.
There is nothing quite like
The taste of fresh home-made bread.
Except that this time
Something went wrong;
They did not rise!
I had forgotten the yeast,
But I cooked them anyway,
And all I had were bricks
That could have built a house
That would last forever.
-
Author:
Goldfinch60 (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 28th, 2023 01:28
- Comment from author about the poem: It only happened this one time.
- Category: Humor
- Views: 7
Offline)
Comments3
Oh no! lol. Good write Gold.
Thanks Orchi.
I always think of you as a bread winner.Lovely poem
Most kind David.
Andy
home made = made with love, so no matter what, it is always delicious!
So true rhm_7, thank you.
Andy
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