It is a day I like, that swells in jasmine trailswhile in scarlet mists a Sun thus born:pilfers ginger yellowand slips the piquant in my tea;mild perhaps is a Sun leftin every sip of ginger-tea!And the dough gobbles the bakerchurned, kneaded,he now swells in hints of cinnamon:by dawn a baker’s thus reborn.From grace to witnessContinue reading “Friday Morn”