Hot Cross Buns

Hot Cross Buns

Steam curls from golden crust,

split to show the sugared spice,

soft dough kissed with cinnamon,

marked with white—a cross precise.

Raisins huddle, dark and sweet,

clinging to the tender crumb,

whispers of the past still linger,

Easter songs on lips gone numb.

Hands once kneaded, shaped with care,

passing secrets, old and wise,

flour-dusted, gently scoring,

watching as the risen rise.

Market stalls with cries of plenty,

warmth wrapped in a paper fold,

pennies pressed in eager palms,

memories baked in coils of gold.

Candles flicker, dusk has fallen,

spice still lingers in the air,

soft as hymns and Sunday footsteps,

a moment’s peace, a baker’s prayer.

Once for pennies, once for prayers,

baked in kitchens lined with stone,

warmth that lingers on the tongue,

a taste of years now set in stone.

A Question. Tell me what do you put on your hot cross buns ? How do you eat them