Solitude carries around its shopping bag of cotton and perhaps jute?


It sometimes seems to feel as if solitude wanders

Around the planet, carrying her shopping bag of

Cotton and jute, with which she searches so diligently

Looking for the calm crushed to pieces, the throat

Swollen with sullen slime, the haunted shelves of

Harmony, desperately wanting replenishing and

Then she sits down to make the sweet as stevia

magical spread of something huge and sensible

from the left overs of joy and contentment, the forgotten

brews of better broths and burgeoning blooms from

those unshakeable, underground gardens that wait

for just this particular, painful, pitiful, feast to garnish

it with sweeter than sugar, stevia and strong coffee!



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