How are you?
Me? I'm a peach whose fuzz has rubbed off.
I can't get under the pit to feel,
Feel all the softness of life's flesh.
The stringiness of it makes digestion difficult.
Other than that, how'm I?
I'm okay.
No, better yet . . .
I'm just peachy.
This reading of poetry from the authors is good therapy for grief. Passes the time away. Loneliness sets in a bedtime though, nights are so long. When hubby was ill we used to stay awake most of the nights. Was tiresome though.