“Medieval Golden Arches”

The oak hardwood fire
With banked flames flaring
Near the back of the stone oven
Roared in silence inside waiting

The bakers worked in harmony
So In love with their craft
As aromas swirled around them
Anticipation was in the air

The bright blue sky beckoned
And warmed them much further
For by the middle of the day
Soon by the noon, they would see

Warm rewards for their labor..
When the townsfolk come running
With love for their scrumptious,
Warm hearted, fresh baked bread ~~

poem by Tim @poetreats

for Bozena @textilecuisine