We searched far for a true sweetness, then came back to the old stove. A small flame. Rice low. Potatoes and corn in the coals. Smoke at the door, evening slowed. Cassava shared, rice halved. Laughter, then quiet.

The stove teaches measure: wait, keep, enough. Lift the lid warmth, a soft ring, steady embers. And we know: the sweetness was always here a small kitchen, a faithful flame.

Giờ cháu đã đi xa. Có ngọn khói trăm tàu,
Có lửa trăm nhà, niềm vui trăm ngả,
Nhưng vẫn chẳng lúc nào quên nhắc nhở:
- Sớm mai này, bà nhóm bếp lên chưa?...