Think of my words as a salad.
Sometimes it may nourish...
And sometimes it's not wanted,
Or thought to be valid.
I offer a taste of variety.
I don't expect everything sampled,
To have everyone leave pleased!
I'm a gourmet of sorts one might say.
Not a specialist of one dish...
But a cook of assortments on display.
If something is nibbled,
And the bite is not right...
That is the way I feel,
With my changing appetite!
When I prepare and complete a thought,
Sometimes it is revised...
To surprise,
And compliment others previously brought!
But if a word or two offends a point of view...
I'm not expecting you to sit,
In discomfort as you chew.
Unless something digested,
Adds meaning to your purpose.
As it did for me,
Before I exposed it to you...
Hoping you add dressing,
Delighting while you slurp it!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Love this one and will chuckle often as I indulge in my favorite, 'chop, chopped salad' [compliments of Max's in the center] now I'm hungry for one.....hold the dressing on mine though, ~~~~~~love, marci.xo