Rich textures gripped beneath hardened calluses of the potato palm and the cabbage loin, cloth to cover the forbidden fruit of our loom with which we weave a story book ending to make the children smile during a time when adults bereave amongst the smelling salts and tasty peppers of a garden overgrown wrought with the desired weeds placed by a philistine in philosopher's robes woven from a wolf in sheep's clothes first-born pup, here lies an end to a beginning that never began.
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