Dusk settles low on the Bramley rows
The mixer hums a low deep song
Your breath clouds up where the north wind blows
You measure salt where nights grow long
Oven light cuts through the orchard night
Snow falls hard but the dough feels light
You punch it down with hands that know
The yeast will rise despite the cold
Yeast wakes slow in the warm wet bowl
Bubbles climb beyond your control
You fold the mass with a patient hand
Flour dust coats the wedding band
Oven light cuts through the orchard night
Snow falls hard but the dough feels light
You punch it down with hands that know
The yeast will rise despite the cold
Snow weighs down the heavy boughs outside
The oven roars with a steady flame
You check the crust for a golden tide
You call the loaf by its proper name
I kept a lamp on the black water
You tend a fire on the brick floor
Different posts but the same watch to endure
The beam cuts dark the heat breaks cold
Both feed the ones the night would hold
First loaves emerge with a crackling crust
Steam climbs the air in a silent gust
The orchard wakes to a golden scent
Another night of the watch well spent
Oven light cuts through the orchard night
Snow falls hard but the dough feels light
You punch it down with hands that know
The yeast will rise despite the cold
Flour sacks empty the week draws near
You sweep the floor with a broom of straw
The lamp burns low but the oven's clear
Another batch waits the morning thaw
Oven light cuts through the orchard night
Snow falls hard but the dough feels light
You punch it down with hands that know
The yeast will rise despite the cold
Oven light holds through the orchard night
You bake the dark into morning light
