Wafer

On a sun‑kissed plate the wafer rests,
A delicate disc of golden biscuit,
Its edges crisp as autumn leaves,
Whispering sweet nothings with each bite.

It cracks beneath a gentle press,
Releasing buttery perfume,
A fleeting sigh of vanilla,
A fleeting moment of pure bliss.

Whether tucked beside a cup of tea,
Or shared in solemn, quiet prayer,
The wafer bears a humble grace—
Thin, yet holding worlds of taste.