If Venna could choose,
She’d be a fairy of food
By the witch’s side, bubbling cauldron
Some roots, some vine, the flesh of the fruit
Cravings, mystical, unique.
A broken heart, she seeps in the cracks;
To do what she was formed for
Yet this broken heart has new strings
Sings a new tune by another’s side
“I believe in myself,” the refreshened heart sings
Reprimanded, Venna must turn to
A more desperate source of glum,
He rejected more times than
The grains of flour in a baker’s dozen,
Yet he symbolized uncorrupted hope.
So Venna finds herself trying to thwart
The innocent attempts of a young man
In chasing after a man his age,
When your strength upon depressed emotions does feed,
The unformed couple’s Venna’s new fodder.
The delicacies of a just-chilled dessert,
The piping-hot crust of a slice straight from the oven,
Menus upon menus Venna wishes were enough
But her instincts to which she must abide
Delegate to her a more brittle, aching chow.
