Sara in the kitchen, hands moving gently,
creating dishes from memories, rooted deep,
in the soil of her past, German and warm,
celebrating a holiday, with flavors true.
The steam rises, carrying stories untold,
of love and loss, of joy and quiet tears,
as each bite connects, the heart to home,
binding together, the now and then.
Her dishes speak, in a language so pure,
of traditions passed, from hand to hand,
bringing the past, to the present’s light,
with every taste, she whispers home.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: August 14th, 2024 11:05
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 44
Offline)
Comments3
Interesting and unusual it smells like home. Nicely said
Beautiful poem. Your words reminded me of my Nan and the recipes she passed down to younger generations. Lovely work.
Beautiful
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