Fri, 17 Mar 2023
| last modified Mon, 27 Oct 2025
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Reflective orbs cascade down like a myriad of miniature marbles,
They hit the pan and comingle with the oil,
The world seems to stutter for a moment,
And suddenly, a serpentine hiss rises from the metal,
Dull fireworks spray out at the reptilian call,
And the oil seems to growl over the surface of the pan,
Seems hot enough.
no previous poems written on this day.