What is there but that which we take in?
Our eyes are hungry for the colours,
Our nostrils for the fragrance,
Our tongues for the taste,
Our hearts for the love in preparation and sharing.
The meal is the sun around which we orbit,
The force of cohesion which connects,
Our centre and our source.
Our first meal was mother,
The others a memory and imagining
Of that which was nurtured
Or that which was lost.
Happy Mothers Day
Thanks to The Mag
Recent Reading History
- Solar - Ian McEwen
- New York - The Novel: Edward Rutherfurd
- The God Delusion - Dawkins