White waves fold into soft hands of years of maternal knead.
Delicately rolled and dusted upon flour, a natural dance erupts as they prepare to feed.
Begging cries for ‘mam mmeee can we have a cut of bread’
Wafting lovingly lyrically from the children’s bed.
Melting ‘Country butter’y blankets of warmth, swept thickly upon tea towel wrapped presents waiting …cool fully on the rack, anticipating.
The marked cross dividing sections, as our mouth waters for this sacrament. A quarter reaching for the heveans in momumental peaceful rest.
Devoured youth crumbles in savoured treasured bites, transported back as we lean against the press.
Happy are we to receive, the greatest gift of all …
Nanny’s bread, a love eternally fed.