Some things are too precious to sell
And some stories are to precious to tell
And woven words and loaves of bread
are not so different after all.
The hands that knead the yielding dough
With care and time and watch it grow
And shape it, craft it diligently
a priceless gift of time and craft.
The hands that etch the wily words
Cascade then into meaningful verse
And lay then one by gentle one,
a testimony of a fleeting thought.
For if the bread can nourish men
And tales evoke emotion then
It seems they’re really quite the same
these creations of our hands.
The smell, the look, and that first taste
The feeling of the sound it makes
The loaf fresh baked calls every sense
and tells a story of its own
So tales are told without words too
The baker knows his words are true
And so for bread too precious to sell
a flury of words in gratitude.
Hi, Lowrey:
I’ve just read ‘These Creations of our Hands’. Very nice indeed – loved it; a finely-crafted piece indeed. It’s very late here, but tomorrow I’ll go back and read some more . And congratulations on ’42’ .
I thought you might like to visit my site, ‘The Igam-Ogam Mabinogion’: you can reach it by going to . If you decide to take a look, I hope you’ll like what you find there.
For now, best wishes.
Dafydd
Dafydd, thank you so much for your kind words. I will absolutely look up your site – I’m already intrigued by the name!
Now ’42’ is in the hands of the printers it will be absolutely heavenly to sit back with a cup of tea and enjoy reading another writer’s work.
🙂 Diolch yn fawr.