Another Bad Apple? Off to the Pits with You!

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Dear Debbie,

I reach for you my dear spoon. My pot will burn if I don't have you in hand to stir it. For your handle feels so nice when my fingers are wrapped around it. Together we stir the pot your handle wrapped by this little hand of mine.

Together let the folks wonder, let them shout. Let them ask who we are? Let them make up stories, or pout. For we are the storytellers, the dreamers of dreams. And one thing I know for sure, isolation isn't punitive, for some it's serene. For no one will ask: do you have, or can you do? Many will think this separation is a bitter pill for their projection is for the swine.

However we know some need our space, for otherwise they get the stir from my sis, let our hijinx show you contrast in their fall from grace.

Send me to the pits if you will, for I live well, and when I leave this place you will be the one who will feel the bitter chill.

Tribute DebbieEh?
Aaron Baker