I Maria, I stand in my bakery, yet I can’t afford bread.
The ovens are warm, and the flour is fine,
But the weight of the world makes the dough hard to bind.
The scent of fresh loaves wafts through the air,
Yet my pockets are empty, my heart filled with care.
I knead and I shape, with a smile on my face,
But the hunger inside me knows no embrace.
The shelves are adorned with pastries and pies,
But the hunger I feel is a truth I can’t disguise.
I watch as they come, with their coins in their hands,
While I count every crumb, as if grains were my plans.
The children come laughing, their faces aglow,
With dreams of sweet treats, and the warmth of the dough.
I serve them with joy, though my heart feels the weight,
Of a life that’s a feast, yet I’m left with the plate.
I barter with hope, trading smiles for a crust,
In a world where the rich seem to thrive on their lust.
Yet here in my bakery, I craft with my soul,
Though the bread that I bake cannot fill up the hole.
So I rise with the sun, and I toil through the night,
In a dance with the dough, in the soft morning light.
For though I may lack what my heart truly craves,
I’ll feed all the dreamers, the hungry, the brave.
And maybe one day, when the stars align right,
I’ll find a way forward, from this shadowy plight.
But until that day comes, I’ll keep baking on,
For the love of the craft, and the hope of the dawn.