The sugar has snapped
The honey’s gone hard
The fruit of my labours gone rotten
I’ve lost the zest for life
In this garden of strife
The spices of variety are forgotten
I have a house but it’s not a home
The chocolate has turned and melted
The things I savoured are far and gone
The pain of their loss has welted
Life is sticky but it’s not sweet
It’s cold and hard like stone
All the joy has been sucked from me
Am I to turn to bone?
Filed under poetry
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Ellen Grace Olinger
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