A Warm Bakery

On a rainy morning,

At some time of the day in mid-winter

I heard a sound of hustling, 

Was it the trees rustling?

No silly, it’s the silver crockery

Crowded in Malvern Buttery. 

The sounds of murmur rise in the air,

Is this a cafe or a winter fair?

With the warm smell of coffee

and oven-baked soft breads

A tingling grumble rises deep in the belly.