Something was different about the bags that day
Soft as a pillow, creamy like clay
And the paper was so easy to fill
Rye on wheat, Kosher on dill
And the poeple too, with what they had said
"Your doing great!" not "Your crushing my bread"
Even though I try my best
With the bread resting above
They always assumed I screw up too
Like the others, with no care or love
Love of the job, doing it right
Working hard, into the night
But that day, something was oddly special
Things were aglow, bright and exceptional
And then i saw, with the clarity of light
Why all the things insignificant were bright
I was just simply complete that day
And everything connected, peaceful at bay