|
Subscribe in a reader
| |
Not Bread Alone
If bread were only heat-baked dough
I think I would not like it so,
But it is earth and rain and sun
And furrows where the pheasants run.
Golden light of dawn is spread
On each slice of wheaten bread.
When I wield the sharpened knife
I have cut a slice of life.
by Don Blanding
Submitted by Pattie Hannon
|
