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On a cool November night
You enter the kitchen
Being welcomed by the warm smell
Of grandma’s sweet potato pie
The constant chopping of the knife
And the clicking clinging of spoons
Creating a symphony of sounds around you
As you make your way around the island
Hunger arises within you
The tempting crimson apple catches your gaze
It is like the calling of the sirens to the sailors at sea
It is an oasis in the desert of your hunger





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