Hopefully, the doors will open wide,
And I’ll step inside, full of pride.
The scent of sugar, warm and sweet,
A dream that started from just a beat.

Flour on my hands, a spark in my heart,
Every recipe, a work of art.
Late nights, early days, endless tries,
Turning failures into highs.

They’ll walk in, drawn by the smell,
Of vanilla, cinnamon—I know it well.
A cozy place, laughter and light,
A little café, warm and bright.

Maybe they'll say, "I love this place,"
With smiles that make my heart race.
And I’ll know, through all the strife,
I baked my dreams into life.