Memory of Love

Jun 19, 2016 by

Coming in the door after school,
The smell of fresh baked bread
Blew over me like a gentle breeze,

And there on the kitchen counter,
The loaves my mother had
spent hours making.

She would cut us thick slices,
And spread on the butter
We had churned that weekend.

Sweet cream, melting into the
Still warm bread.

I would close my eyes
And take a bite of love.

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