Food for Thought-Memories of Marmalade on Toast

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Sometime,
on the way to May,
I was waylaid,
by a jar,
of Oxford marmalade,
with tiny flecks,
of rind and peel,
they made my toast,
long to feel,
the overwhelming realization,
of crust and crumble,
as the blade draws wide,
spreads and glides,
unevenly applied,
with loving care,
taste in segments,
not filled with air.

–Richard Bryant

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