Baked Bread
You open up the kitchen door,
Aromas surround you you want more,
Fresh bread bakin some are done,
Can't wait to taste them everyone,
Mom makes the bread most everyday,
She makes them special just her way,
The flour flies, as she kneads,
The special method, of her deeds,
The steam from slicing, is a dream,
I know this much, I could scream,
The bread is ready so am I,
Dark brown bread, butter on rye.
Copyright © Louisa Ritchotte | Year Posted 2006
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