as summer fades
in dead of night
the barred owl calls
and calls again
though sustenance
I do not lack
the plaintive goes
unanswered
stretched thin I sit
barely awake
the meaning stripped
from what I've done
things achieved have
lost their shine
and I've begun
to ache
who cooks for you
she asks once more
as understanding dawns
it's less about
who cooks for you
and more who
you've cooked for.
© 2015 Frederick Andrew ~ All Rights Reserved
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