Because I could not bake for Beth–
She kindly baked for me–
The Kitchen held but just Ourselves–
And Geniality

We slowly mixed– She knew no haste
And I had put away
My Oster and my KitchenAid,
For her Placidity–

We put the Pan upon the Stove–
Pushed creases– in the Dough–
We used the mealy Barley Grain–
We used the Lecithin–

Or rather– It used us–
The Muse stood– though kneading, still–
For only Countertop, her Canvas–
Her Throne was just a Stool–

We paused before the Oven steamed–
The Bread rose– slowly browned–
The Wheat was scarcely visible–
The Yeast– lost in the Mound–

Since then– ’tis Years have passed– and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first realized that Beth had found
The perfect Recipe–