Thursday, September 23, 2010
~Belle Bainster Broadbent~
While the dough I gently grasp,
I think of those who must clasp
Seed, to sow the golden grain
And reap the harvest it contains;
And those who then work hour by hour
Turning this grain into flour
While these joining, clasping hands
Feed the hungry of the lands.
So, I find a kinship spread
While I'm gently kneading bread.
It is a silent sort of morning, sitting next to the wood stove in my rocker, watching the birds outside my windo...