The smell of baking bread pervades my house
And yet it is not mine - cannot be mine;
I must seek out some magic way to douse
The sense of smell - for whether by design
Or random accident this scent invades
It hurts me deeply to be so recalled
Constantly to the knowledge of the shades
That I have left behind, for I am walled
Away from bread and baking for a time,
And every moment that this smell persists
Strikes in my memory that dreadful chime
That though I cannot have it, it exists.
I should be grateful, since this scent preserves
The memory of what my lack observes.
No comments:
Post a Comment