Back bend over the grindstone,
Slowly one on one, in circles they went,
Following the hands as the grains became dust,
In silence serene, as the household slept
A warm aroma of fresh baked roots
And yeast made brown with a pinch of love
Wiry and nimble as she quietly hopped about to ready
Long had she learnt to fight, twas required measure beyond
As her strapping young lads stirred awake
To the chirping sounds that only nature can make
Low behind the broken birch strewn around,
Mud smeared and heaving, stifling a cry
As they rustled the bushes, bayonets swinging about
Watching the feathered caps, the uniformed guards
as they sniggered aloud of bounty untold.
A legend whispered of flying squirrels
Men of honour who travelled the highways
Yet none had seen of the hundreds felled
Capable of what those tiny shoulders held.
Quietly she stirred the pot, round and round,
While the smile walked around the worlds unknown
Where the leaves rusted just before a leap
That faithful day when a glance sheared a leg
The world was changing and with the time,
She had learnt to be of a different kind.
Four for one, a trade not bad
While the legend grew to feed of lores
The eyes shone bright, it was a freedom
Tasted and never to be given light.
1 comment:
Interesting to know.
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