| 5 September 2019 1200 Hours | Philosophy, Food, Poetry |
Finely chopped parsley Sprinkled over the face Of pudding-like rice soup. How soft and smooth is its texture, Slipping over the tongue, Hot, And taken down with a gentle swallow. Laughing here and there, Chatting now and then, Longing up and down. If life could be So soft and gentle soup.