Prunes
I find that when we eat prunes,
We tend to sit in cold bathrooms;
Although it may be a trial,
We fit right in with rank and file.
The wafting scent of strange perfumes,
Are too much like exhaust fumes;
Though it’s not meant to offend the nose,
You can’t compare it to a rose.
All that’s said may sound arcane,
But this I find is a good domain;
For it’s true it is a small event,
But you must admit it’s time well spent.
Copyright © Elizabeth Wesley | Year Posted 2011
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