It was sommer better waiting in limbo.
When solace and solitude embraced tenderly
and seerenity resoundingly echoed his brother peace.
We smiled-
but then missed what we never had.
We hated honey for bees stung,
and the gods scarced the nectar;
hunger shrinking our potbellies.
The gods returned,
swallowing what we chewed-
intering appetised souls day by day.
In our wailing, we cursed what we knew not.