My hands grow tired from kneading the dough
Over and over I ask Mama Mary to pray for me
The sweet bread has to be right
The house is dark
The sweet bread Mama made is waiting for me
In my white dress, red sash, and a wreath with candles on my head
I wake the house up and deliver sweet bread to my parents and my brother
This is the first year without Mama
St Lucy was her patron saint and on her feast day it became our mini Christmas
I miss her so
The house is dark, the only light, candles
The sweet bread has to be right
Very nice. It reminds me of the story of St Clare whose bread miraculously had crosses on the bottom after she prayed a blessing over then. Yummm bread is delicious.
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