Another Rumination

Once again
I find my mouth full
Working on what I have regurgitated
And while there have been times that
I have let go what I have had between my teeth
Feeding it to such young as I nurtured
Anymore there is but one who would feed thereupon
And she is less and less likely to like the taste
For which I can hardly blame her
Since what comes up from in me
Is all too often bitter
As can hardly be helped
Given the source
So like the sailor’s wife the first witch saw
I mounch and mounch
But I have no husband
Gone to Aleppo or otherwise
And few enough with which to share

Yeah, this ain’t it.
Photo by Peter Steele on Pexels.com

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