the smell of the bread was cold like solitude
and sharp like sadness
and sweet like whispers in the night
the baked circlet sat there in all its braided glory
waiting to be broken and bathed
in remembrance of ridicule and redemption
execution and life eternal
the scent of the bread was cold as the solemnity of death
clear as the vibrancy of life returning with the morning light
crisp as freshly folded sheets in spring
its endless ring and three strands symbolizing the undefeatable
the day was sacred to tomb and selpulchure
the new loaf the fragrance of burial
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