When I Was a Baker
I've got all the stuff,Made sure, there's enough.Done all I knead to do to the dough. Now a brief rest,A strong coffee is bestAn ease to the night's lingering rest. The dough has now lifted,The box lid has shifted And a scale is my next tool of choice. A dust cloud of flour, Close eye on the hour,As the quiet dough pops in a soft gentle voice. Bowl scraper, dough cutter,Tins slathered in butter.Dough shaped and placed gently within. A glass of cold water,Fingerprints made of butter, Enough sweat might just make me thin. The temperature is steady, Fresh bread almost ready And the smell is a thing beyond nice. On time out it comes, Square loaves and round buns,Melting butter on a fresh slice.