She goes to make her daily bread
With a wooden spoon in hand,
Her tresses braided on her head
The seeds for the grain were sown in a band,
The water came from a gushing spring
Near bloodroot growing in a ring,
Her tresses braided on her head
She goes to knead her daily bread.
The dough set up to rise, she waits
In the creek and unbraids her plaits,
The water sings as she splashes her feet,
It rises high, her skirts to meet,
She dances on the grass to dry
And sings while a robin hops nearby.
She goes to sleep in the shade of trees,
A cat curls up on her bended knees,
She wakes to falling drops of rain,
To the whistle of a passing train,
She shapes the dough on a floured tray
Watching the sun sink for the day,
She goes to bake her daily bread
Her tresses curling around her head.
This is beautiful. Love the imagery so vivid,alive and as fresh as the bread she bakes
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