I think
This is what it is
To have a fairytale inn.

To have a well-tread floor
Familiar with the feet
Of the familiar faces.

To put food into hungry bellies,
Remember names and orders.
Remember bits and pieces of lives
Shared over the sunrise.

To see the backs
Bent from work
And stiff from harsh weather
Straightened with cups of coffee.

To smell the smells
Only a busy kitchen
Can offer you,
Wash dishes with dry,
cracking hands.
To ladle soup, and plop cookies
Into white paper bags.

I think
This is what it is
To have a fairytale inn.