Poetry

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I donned my apron,
floured the pan,
wiped flour from my nose,
then in the pan I placed the dough,
and left it while it rose.

A little yeast, a little time, and
the dough began to rise
It was round and plump and beautiful.
It was heaven to my eyes.

The oven beeped its readiness
the temp. was right on track,
and so I placed my lovely bread
upon the middle rack.

The bread rose higher
as it browned and baked
causing my own hopes to rise.
I envisioned thick, warm, buttered bread
with jam upon each slice.

I dreamed, my hunger deepened
I planned great feasts in my head.
And all the while my hungry heart
cried out for more than bread.

Then suddenly, an aroma met
my nostrils with a shock,
for in my rush to bake my bread
I had not set the clock.

I opened up the oven door
and there to my dismay,
instead of bounty in my pan
was darkness and decay.

I looked again
and shook my head
perplexed and in distress,
for now I knew beyond a doubt
that I couldn’t eat this mess.

“Thou shalt not live by bread alone”
spoke a small voice in my mind.
So, I thanked the Lord
for burnt offerings
of bread and other kinds.

And then I sat and ate the Word,
and chewed on it awhile.
Digested and internalized
this bread did satisfy.

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