By Peter Kovarik
Ode to Barbara and her bread
After a day of toil and bustle
You sat down to watch the Windsors’ fame and folly.
But she reached for flour and made the starter doughy.
The Trout from Schubert's river chased her whisk with vigor
as she filled her grandma's bowl with this treasure.
Dark fell and Mendelssohn's Summer Dream danced in her head, and the sleep was taking her quietly away.
The morning sun touched and caressed her face
when nimble fingers guided dough into shape.
The silky mound was ready for the oven's hot embrace.
The sweet smell now fills the air,
bringing memories of a country bakery of long past.
Neighbor walks by, turning his head and whistling with delight.
His dog yelps happily. The day is open wide.
The golden loaf now sits on the table
humbly displaying its savory goodness.
The baker smiles with quiet pride and removes her apron.
Life is good again.
