Don’t be so glum, plum.
Don’t feel beaten.
You were made to be eaten.
But don’t you know deep within,
Beneath your juicy flesh and flimsy skin,
You bear a mystery,
You hold a key,
You have the making of a whole new tree.
I have found such joy in simple things; A plain clean room, a nut-brown loaf of bread, A cup of milk, a kettle as it sings, The shelter of a...
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