The speaker has spent the whole day cooking dinner, and the poem is built around a small, striking idea: "my home is our ham." The house and the roast become one thing. Since the weather is frosty and the house is too poor to have a proper oven, the cooking seems to be the only source of warmth and comfort the place has.
The speaker doesn't complain outright. The tone is plain and matter-of-fact, and the short, clipped lines make it feel like a quick note jotted down at the end of a long day. Still, there's a quiet mix of feelings here: a little weariness, some awareness of hardship, and a stubborn sort of contentment. The word "our" suggests sharing, so the meal seems to belong to a family or household rather than one person.
The mood is cozy but a bit bare. The poem suggests that even in a cold, poorly equipped home, the effort of making a meal can turn the place into something that feels like home.