poetry

Baked from Midwest Sun in Strawberry Fields to Table

Photo by Polina Tankilevitch on Pexels.com

Many summers ago, in Iowa’s July heat, we spent a day.

Sun baking my freckled skin, I knelt in the wild strawberry patch.

My friend nearby, reminding me when I wearied, of the promise.

As night came, and we were back to our Illinois homestead,

we set the table with whipped topping centermost.

With growl inducing scents of batter to steam

from the waffle iron, we started losing our cool.

Sitting at the table, holding holds for grace,

we were indeed grateful for our day,

Ending with strawberry waffles.

,,,,,,

6 thoughts on “Baked from Midwest Sun in Strawberry Fields to Table”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.