The dough of life is absent
the wonderful and warm loaf bread of love
the sunny heat warmth, which cooked it
the recognised warmth, which cannot be compared
but where is Mrs Baker?
Who is cooking the bread?
I have forgotten how bread tastes…
The empty winter woods
the same procedure as every year
the grown tribes
the spring is coming
the warmth, and he
he was decayed to the wild cat called affection