The smell of parsley on my fingers
Spreading around in the kitchen
From a red pot bulging with steam
Full of carrots, beef ribs and things
Hidden in my cave I cautiously inhale
The secret thoughts of vegetables
Seething out in sudden fits
Covering the world with spicy mists
I am undoubtedly a strayed queen
Exiled to this land others have seen
Forced to discover bright pots and pans
And rest my dreams in herbal veils
A winter day or is it night?
The windows sweat, on is the light
I feel so safe, the doors are shut
On the hot soup to my delight.
Beef Soup
© Copyright: Драгана Старчевич, 2018
Свидетельство о публикации №118011400427
Свидетельство о публикации №118011400427
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