Yeast

In a quiet kitchen, warm and dim,
A tiny kingdom stirs within the bowl—
Yeast, the humble chemist, soft and grim,
Awakes to feed on sugar’s sweet carol.

It buds and sighs, a living breath,
Exhaling carbon’s light, gay foam;
Each bubble lifts the dough to death‑
A lofty rise that makes it home.

Through flour’s white veil it weaves its thread,
Turning starch to gold, to crust, to sigh;
The oven’s heat, where aromas spread,
Turns silent cells to fragrant sky.

So raise a loaf, celebrate the craft—
Yeast, the unseen artist, patient, sly.
In every crumb, its quiet laugh
Whispers of life, of rise, of why.