Forty-four. Dust on the floor.

Stoke up the fire and lock the door.

Bake your messages in a pie.

Serve it up to passers by.

© 2025 Juliette Proffitt
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THE ABOVE POEM WAS WRITTEN BY AND REMAINS THE PROPERTY OF THE AUTHOR. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. THE AUTHOR GRANTS PERMISSION TO SHARE UNALTERED POSTS ONLY WHEN EXPLICITLY CREDITING THEM. NO OTHER REPRODUCTIONS ARE GRANTED WITHOUT PRIOR PERMISSION.