The Baker’s Dozen
The baker, in our village, a man who loved his craft,
collaborated with the enemy in the war of 1940-45, as
it was the only way he could get fine flour and other
stuff to bake his delicious cakes and white bread.
Our baker was a pleasant, brown eyed, a short rotund
man who always had boiled sweet in his pocket for
the children when he went for his afternoon walk.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem