Through eyes and ears it all falls in
There to storage in matter gray.
How long it rests there,
How the soup is made,
As all the ingredients gather,
We do not know.
Eventually it is done,
Spiced enough, at least, for serving,
Then offered to the table.
Or more likely,
Placed upon this cooling rack,
Half-baked.
Word Counts — Today: 0 | January: 930 | 2010: 930
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