by Abigael01 Nov 2013
A chunk of bread, (not plastic wrapped,)
but sourdough, kneaded with love, risen
slow to give flavour; moist and crusty,
it bursts with black eyed juicy olives.
A slab of handmade soft french cheese
that invades my nostrils pleasantly
to reinforce its gently pungent cowie
flavour, and linger on my tongue.
Sunripened, just picked from the vine
a plump red misshapen Mamande tomato.
It squirts a fountain to quench thirst
with tastebud ticklin'sharp-sweetness.
Though I'm gardener and baker, filled
with love for the creator, I am thankful
for these simple delights. I eat slowly,
thoughtfully, to prolong the pleasure.