Honey On Toast Poem by soren Barrett

Fragrance from colorful buds is soft to the touch
New love, shinier than that lost, even if you buff
Passion walks into love on a broken crutch
One's last love, unlike first, is made of stronger stuff

Matured in bandages
it dreams of a past fever
where a child manages
to hold onto a stuffed beaver

Hands of a clock paint spots on fresh fruit
Breakfast grows into a cold dinner
a rotted peach, the river of time does pollute
Dust and cobwebs become the winner