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In the morning my mom will make
Before I know it I can hear
The bread being put into the toaster, the
Spring going down a little by the weight.
She gets out the butter, a drawer opens and
The silverware jingles to find a knife. A
Couple plates are brought down from the
The smell wafts through the air, up the
Stairs, under my door and through the
Cracks into my room. It smells good and
I can tell which bread it is. Potato bread, my favorite.
I get out of bed, and open the door. I hear the
Toast pop up. My mom spreads the butter
And the crunch of the bread is music
To my ears.
I silently sit in the chair by the table, and
I wait for the plate to come my way. My mom
Turns around and smiles when she sees me. Placing
The plate in from of me, I smile and thank her.
When I pick up the bread, it was hot, and
The butter was melted. It smells good. I can’t
Wait to take a bite. I bring it close and open
My mouth. The toast touches my tongue then I bite down.
The crunch is amazing, an explosion of crumbs go flying
In my mouth that it feels like fireworks.
The taste of the bread and butter was what I was waiting for.
Jelly was put in front of me. My moms asked if I want any.
But why would I want to mask the taste of the best thing to happen to bread?
It is just fine without having to cover it up.
Finishing up the last piece of toast, I was sad.
But I would wait till the next day to get more. Without jelly.
Just old fashioned butter spread on.