Song of the Baker’s Wife

In a spacious kitchen, with abundance round And dough upon the board, I knead the bread, and sing to god, Each note is my reward.

The flour and yeast, the salt and air, The warmth of the morning sun, Within the dark of the oven’s glow My work is almost done.

But I’ll only know, when the kitchen lambs Are born to loving care, With hearts that are true, and bodies proud In a natural world that’s fair.

• Mary Gilmore