Oil, warm and fragrant, swirls into the silver bowl,
and our prayers for home and hearth rise to the sky.
Hers shall ever be the first and last.
The glass refracts the sun’s rays, and parchment ignites,
kindling wood aflame, until it glows in every heart:
we lay the fire sure and strong.
Gather round and eat your fill of fresh-baked bread.
Grasp her cup by both handles and drink deeply.
Feel how good it is to be back home.
