In the quiet dawn, the millstone turns,
Transforming grains to dust so fine,
A whisper of wheat, a promise of life,
Begins the story of bread, divine.

Kneaded by hands both old and wise,
The dough takes shape, a living thing,
Rising with warmth, a sacred dance,
Awaiting the oven’s gentle sing.

Golden crust with secrets sealed,
Each slice a tale of sun and soil,
Butter melts in embrace so warm,
Bread, the fruit of farmer’s toil.

In every crumb, a history told,
Of lands and lives intertwined,
Bread sustains, it comforts, it binds,
A humble feast for humankind.