My frazzled mind,
like lemon rind,
bitter, unkind,
has lost its zest.
Better, best,
and all the rest —
the egg, the crust,
the flour dust,
the pie pan's rust —
the stirring whang,
the cloudy tang,
the white meringue —
the wait, the heat
that bakes the treat...
I cannot eat,
nor take a bite;
my gut not right,
no appetite.
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