The Scent of Bread
Come, my friends, and harvest
The swaying, golden stalks of wheat
Beneath the amber touch of dawn
Now, let us mill the bran and seed
Compose a working melody
And imagine a brand new song
Then with this ground, fresh flour
Let us add water, yeast, and salt
We’ll work the dough with open palms
Leave it to rest, rise, and proof
Stoke the wood fire in the oven
While we write a lament and psalm
A sombre verse refusing to rhyme
A broken prayer for an end to war
A hope for hollowed-out bombs
Come, my friends, and gather
Let our words not go left unsaid
Breathe deep, dear children,
Breathe in the scent of bread
— Eric H Janzen
