Breaking bread
He buys the bread, she makes the soup,they sit with wine and ale,
tomatoes from the greenhouse
and cheese just ripe, it runs.
Afterwards he'll take a chair
and settle down with sigh.
She'll clear the table, stack the plates,
the same routine each day.
Years ago they used to laugh,
she danced within his arms;
these days he has lumbago
and the kids have all left home.
Today, he finds a letter
unstamped and propped beside.
The cheese is hard and soup unmade
she's packed and gone away.
Poetry by Elle
Read 630 times
Written on 2007-11-20 at 18:38
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