I live with the breads

Every morning
With our head raised to glory
The smell of the bread
Alarms our mind to call of duty

We gain the famous thought
Of every household gathered
in our neighborhood
Of the bread growing from
Our teeth, no less our nose

Our farm
No expectation less
For its the engine room
Where we test the tests

I charge the flames
With the beating chest
Of the precious mine
Spurning diamonds at our feet

The bread
Our proud heritage
Where we fuel
The inner mind of our friends

Photo: en.wikipedia.org

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About Michael Ogundele

A writer, ardent reader and lover of nature. fell in love with writing five years back and I've been engraved in her arms ever since. I share my little way of writing poetry and reflections based on Catholic faith and Spirituality on this space. I hope you enjoy reading as we ride the same chariot to the leafy greens. Do follow me and together, let us jump into the ocean of my ink.
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