It's not about the cheese.
Not for me.
It's not about the meat or the jelly or the jam or the eggs.
It's not about the glitz and glamour of all that comes after,
no.
It's about the foundation. The Strength, the stone, the dirt in the bone.
It's the depths that allow for the hors dourves to taste so sultry sweet, the depths of the cracker that let's your loving grace shine.
No cracker ever gets its credit, never gets its due, never its day in court.
No.
The attention goes to the show pony, the prized pig, the beauty queen, the belle of the ball.
But the ball must have a foundation. A solid, stable,
place to be held, like a gymnasium.
If that gymnasium faltered, and all those kids died,
Then the foundation would be noticed.
And the whole wheat cracker would take the blame.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem