A poem by my dear 12 year old niece, Eden.
The Bread Knife
A bread knife I was,
A bread knife I am.
I sat there on the shelf,
Of the Winchester’s store.
* * *
A man walked in,
One fine day.
He took me, and made me,
Cut all the bread.
* * *
I cut hard bread and soft bread.
Fresh bread and stale bread.
Wheat bread and flour bread,
Until one day I could cut,
No more bread.
* * *
He tried to sharpen me,
But I could not be sharpened.
He tried to shape me,
But I could not be shaped.
* * *
He hadn’t taken care of me,
He had to throw me away.
* * *
A bread knife I was,
A bread knife I no longer am.
* * *
wingrish 