Hot Cross Buns
Steam curls from golden crust,
split to show the sugared spice,
soft dough kissed with cinnamon,
marked with white—a cross precise.
Raisins huddle, dark and sweet,
clinging to the tender crumb,
whispers of the past still linger,
Easter songs on lips gone numb.
Hands once kneaded, shaped with care,
passing secrets, old and wise,
flour-dusted, gently scoring,
watching as the risen rise.
Market stalls with cries of plenty,
warmth wrapped in a paper fold,
pennies pressed in eager palms,
memories baked in coils of gold.
Candles flicker, dusk has fallen,
spice still lingers in the air,
soft as hymns and Sunday footsteps,
a moment’s peace, a baker’s prayer.
Once for pennies, once for prayers,
baked in kitchens lined with stone,
warmth that lingers on the tongue,
a taste of years now set in stone.
A Question. Tell me what do you put on your hot cross buns ? How do you eat them
About the Creator
♿ V+ Marie381Uk
Poetry has lived in me since childhood.
Ink spills the feelings words fear to say.
My poems heal, some haunt, all are pieces of me.
Stay and read please. Like&follow me. If my poetry touches your ♥️ maybe leave a small tip
#Marie381UkWrites
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