the odd one who runs not with the pack
does her magic while she's on crack
in her laboratory, in her glory
in the kitchen she shines
she pours in more love
than sugar or flour
she is mighty
building a fondant tower
each ingredient blessed
and loved very well
into the oven and, oh the smell!
the bohemian baker is where we line up
a basket of pie and breads for sup
she not from here, the old ones say
thank god for that
she does live life
her way
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A lovely poem Mr Nobody.