Mr and Mrs Baker, a plan they did hatch;
To add a member to their family batch.
Baguette met bagel, with seeds to sow;
Creating a new and precious dough.
This dough was delicate and kneaded care;
Adding any ingredients they had to spare.
Mrs Baker’s oven inside her tum;
Helped raise the dough to a tiny crumb.
Growing from a crumb in to a bun;
The baking time was almost done.
Whether rye or granary, the Bakers weren’t fussed;
They’d love him always, no matter the crust.
Ping went the timer, out came the tin;
Their life as parents was about to begin.
With a gentle tap on the warm tin back;
He came out perfect, not even a crack.
Looking at the life upon her lap;
Mrs Baker fed him from her bap.
Content after what felt like hours;
In came family with gifts and flours.
Hugs and kisses came in droves;
From various flavours of various loaves.
Parents at last, they shared a sob;
Holding close their little cob.
Taking a moment to smell his head;
Nothing smells better than freshly baked bread.
By Paul Webster