Making Bread

Flour in the air,
Flour in her hair.
Flour everywhere,
Flour on the floor.

What a chore,
Flour is everywhere.
She's painting her arms,
Her cheeks fair powder.

No more sweet rosey smiles.
Just sifted flowered,
giggles in the air
with the bleached dew.

Dusty white pats,
on black springy twists.
Baby brown hands,
now lightly white.

Flour everywhere,
time to be...
Clean.
brown with rosey cheeks.
What a chore.
What a chore.