It's that time again. Time when I lose all sense of proportion and sanity and agree to write a poem a day following prompts exactly as given by our fearless leaders (aka Ren the Klutz! and Fyn-elf. I may not survive. But I will do it anyway, mostly because I can't imagine anyone having this much agony fun without me.
Come join us! We have cookies. And possibly, straitjackets.
Invalid Item This item number is not valid. #2065770 by Not Available.
children
entering the same
cycle of enthusiasm while
parents yawn—I can almost
see them, as I scroll
their pictures on my phone—
Germany. Alabama. California.
the dancers are different,
the dance is the same.
Haha, I’ll make you some Rhyssa. Pasties were my Dad’s favorite and I learned to make them very early. I too love them but they are a lot of work to make. My husband never appreciated them which I could never understand. But consequently I don’t make them often. Only if my brother is coming for dinner. Both of my grandmothers made them, and my Mom and me. I’d say i have an old family recipe but I’ve never had a written recipe, I just make them and they are so good. Just like your poem.
I’ll have to invite my brother for dinner and make pasties soon. You have my mouth watering.
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.14 seconds at 12:49pm on Dec 22, 2024 via server WEBX1.