poem #21

morning omelets 
Mornings, some eat omelets,
evenings, marrow stew.
Regardless of the hour,
I nibble only you.
The English dine on cod,
the French on croque-monsenieur.
But I am just a mutt,
and all I crave is you
Passover is gefilte fish,
Easter is spring ewe.
Is it irreligious if
the meat I munch is you?
-Evelyn B. Hirschworth
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