The First Loaf

We praise the golden field,

but someone cleared the stones.

We bless the waiting bread,

but someone broke the ground.

A seed was laid in darkness

with no promise it would rise.

Hands tended what was hidden

beneath unanswering skies.

Now grain bends toward the sickle.

Now flour meets the flame.

We gather at the table

and speak the harvest’s name.

May we remember patience.

May we honor those who sow.

May we tend our living promises

and learn from what did not grow.

May we take what feeds us,

share more than we consume,

and save a seed for those who come

when we have left the room.